30kisses
by Guardian Kysra
Summary: My entries for the 30kisses live journal community. All oneshots, these stories are NOT connected to each other unless otherwise specifed. RobinRaven. Theme 29, Part 1 is up. WARNING: Part 24 has mature content.
1. Blue

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #1 (look over here): Blue

His eyes are blue. Simply, beautiful, blue. Not the midnight blue of her cloak or the sky blue of a sunlit day or even the metallic blue of Cyborg's tech. They are a blue that defies definition or explanation because they are a color hidden to all.

She has never seen them, never had their weight rest upon her in any discernible fashion; but she knows their warmth and violence, how they flash when his anger wishes to spill over and the black fog of hatred hangs like a diseased cloud around him. There is a sadness in them, even when they smile and twinkle beneath the mask, even when they brighten, invisible, always guarded.

His soul is in his eyes, and it is blue as well, a lovely soothing periwinkle or a stormy, bruised blueberry. Soft but durable, substantial, it is always reaching, pouring out of him in clear waves like the waters of some tropical paradise - bold, strong, fluid, and flexible. There rests his intuition and flows the overdeveloped vein of courage and determination that makes him _him_.

And the spirit, that shifting blue of his emotions, his spirit calls to her in the day, cradles her in the night, the drift of it's pull coaxing her like forgotten phantom kisses. It is a drugging thing. _He_ is a drugging thing, and she is aware that he knows of his effect on her. He knows that she can see his eyes despite their ever-present black and white covering. They seek her when her own violet eyes close, find her when she least expects it.

"Raven!"

_His_ voice, loud and jovial, causes her to gasp and fall hard to the ground, thoroughly breaking the meditative trance she had been in while contemplating the spectrum of blue shades. Shaking her head, she schools her features into a glare as her head swivels to one side.

"Look over here." His voice is closer now, the blue wrapping around her in tickling silk strands of amusement.

Her head turns to find him at her shoulder. His smile is instantaneous, and she is momentarily thunderstruck by the impression of intuitive navy stamped into her mind.

His eyes are blue. Simply, beautiful, blue. Not the midnight blue of her cloak or the sky blue of a sunlit day or even the metallic blue of Cyborg's tech. They are a blue that defies definition or explanation because they are a color hidden to all.

All but her.


	2. Tabloids

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #2 (news; letter): Tabloids

He did not realize he was seeking her out until he found himself in the common room staring at her still figure lounging on the couch with her newest literary obsession, Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah by Richard Bach. Now that he was here, however . . .

"Were you aware we're sleeping together?"

It was to her credit that she neither looked up nor twitched, eyes still glued to the pages even as she turned to the next. "I'm also expecting our love-child."

"Really? Why don't I remember this?"

"Because you've been steadily killing the few brain cells you could boast with an array of narcotics."

He tried to keep a straight face, but the corner of his mouth seemed bent on twisting into a half-grin. "Well, that explains quite a bit."

"Doesn't it." She turned the page again and flexed her toes.

Dropping down at the opposite end of the sofa, he reached out to pluck the book from her grip.

"Robin. You are treading on dangerous ground." He wondered what she would do if he told her that pinched look on her face was simply adorable.

"You're the one having a secret affair with Beastboy."

Raven shook her head slightly. "Beastboy seduced Starfire after he caught Jinx giving her kissing lessons."

At this, the Teen Titans' leader burst out laughing. "Now I know why she lost interest in me."

"She hasn't. She's currently planning how to get you to join in the fun . . . with all three of them."

"And here I was under the impression she was with Plasmus."

Violet eyes seemed to spark with something - possibly humor? "What about you and Slade? Rumor has it that you two were hot and heavy for a while."

"Only in your fantasies."

"Who says I have fantasies about you?"

"Well, you _are_ expecting _our_ love-child."

This time her mouth dipped into a small smile, but it was enough to warm his heart. "So you _do_ remember."

His hand caressed her exposed ankle before letting it drift up her leg. "Maybe. How do I know it isn't Cyborg's?""Apparently, despite my best efforts to gain his attention, Cyborg is pining over Terra."

"Terra?"

Her hand stopped his from moving past her thigh. "You don't want to know what they're saying about Titans East; and Cyborg is the least of your worries."

"You mean I have more competition?" His grin was cocky now, and there was a ball of heat swirling in his gut, weathering his voice into a deep, hoarse whisper.

She leaned in slightly. "I don't know. You went to the store today, right?"

Producing several rumpled magazines, the Boy Wonder couldn't help asking, "Are we sick for being addicted to these things?"

Twisting a section of hair between her fingers, Raven replied, "It's like a train wreck or a soap opera. I can't decide which. I have to know what they're saying this week."

They were silent for long moments as they read with relish the many sordid (and fabricated) sexual and romantic escapades of the residents of Titans Tower, the celebrity sweethearts of Jump City.

"So?"

"This week I've hooked up with Batman, and we are planning to elope. Starfire, since failing to add you to her harem, has decided that Mammoth must live up to his name in other departments . . . As for Beastboy and Cyborg --"

It was killing him. "Do you think they know they were right about that one thing?"

"I'm sure they'll figure it out in a few months when the baby comes."

"That's not what I . . . oh. _Oh_."

"Exactly."


	3. Observance

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #3 (jolt!): Observance

It was probably the stupidest observation in the history of her life, but there was no denying it, Robin had grown up. She wondered when that had happened, and why in hell was she noticing it NOW?

Once, they had been of a much similar height and build. His uniform had fit her almost perfectly (if a little tight in the bust area) when she had given into the insanity of her teammates while the Boy Wonder was away. The spandex had been comfortable and smelled of him. Of course, she had no idea why the fact that she could remember the precise scent and took comfort in it disturbed her so. The bare point was, she was completely stumped as to how she could have missed the very important, BLATANT change in his physical appearance.

She had been partaking in her favorite past-time - brewing a fresh cup of tea - when he had entered their mess of a kitchen. At first, it hadn't really registered, she was so accustomed to the feel of his presence; but the moment she had turned to greet him, she was _aware_ to the point of near-swooning. He seemed, in that moment, to take up all the space in the room and rob her of all breath. It was then that she realized she had to look _up_ at him. The whole episode had been surreal, and now all she could do was beat herself up for not noticing before. It was like she had woken up in a totally different world. Her leader had suddenly graduated from gangly boy to certified _man_.

And because he had the audacity to mature, she was completely disconcerted; and for Raven, being disconcerted was tantamount to serious danger.

So, she had retreated to the roof where she couldn't be bothered by his shadow at the corner of her eye, disturbed by the smell of his sweat, or cradled in the strands of his aura. _Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos._ Deep breaths passed from nose and mouth. In and out, in and out, longer now, calm the mind, no Bird brains allowed.

Of course, some Bird brains were just stupid when it came to their teammates' need for privacy. She felt him before the shrill shreak of the roof door opened to admit him to _her_ sanctuary, and - unable to hold her altitude in the wake of his voice (when had it grown so deep?) - she found herself cradled in his arms rather than just his aura.

_Damn him._

"Raven?" He was looking at her with some measure of concern, the worry-lines deepening between his brows; and she realized with a jolt that she had not heard a word he just said.

"I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?" She was only mildly horrified that her voice sounded breathy and that her hands - possessed by some spirit not her own - crept around his broad shoulders utterly against her will.

Perplexed, he asked again, "We're going out for pizza. Wanna come?"

Even his **teeth** were perfect and beautiful! It made her sick. "I think . . . I need to meditate some more. I'm feeling a bit distracted." And his lips! She had no idea what "kissable" looked like, but she imagined it was him.

"Is everything okay?" Now he looked positively concerned, his attention fixed solely on her. Somewhere in the mindscape of Nevermore, one of the fragments of her personality was crowing with delight as his arms tightened around her.

_Everything save my newly awakened hormones._ "Everything's fine. I've just been . . . noticing new things lately." _Who knew a guy's Adam's apple could be so appealing?_ Part of her wanted to stay right where she was forever and ever. _Hades, I am turning into Kitten!_

He shifted slightly to better balance her in his hold. "Anything I can help you with?"

_Yes, I think I'm in heat. Take me?_ "No . . . no. I just have to sort it out, myself. I'll be fine. I promise."

Robin had smiled at her before, but the sight of it had never made her feel weak in the knees (and she wasn't even standing)! "Well, then, we'll bring some back with us for you."

It didn't escape her notice that he was _still_ holding her without complaint or sign of letting go. "Thank you. You can put me down now."

He chuckled softly as he set her - with great care - on her feet, and she couldn't help the shiver that ran up her spine. _Is this **attraction**? Ugh._

"It was bound to happen sometime."

Raven blinked, slightly confused but unable to show it. "What?"

Robin's smile was small, mysterious, and incredibly sexy. "Let's just say, I'm noticing new things lately too." Then, to her surprise and complete confusion, he gave her a wink before turning and walking away, leaving her to admire his form.

"Oh and Raven?" He stood at the open door, staring at her with a wide grin.

"Yes?"

"You're cute when you drool."

Yep, definitely, the stupidest, most _mortifying_ observation in the history of her life; but when she finally reached a true meditative trance, there was a smile still fixed upon her lips.


	4. Waiting

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #4 (our distance and that person): Waiting

He is waiting to return to her, but he doesn't realize it yet. They had been close once - when it was just the two of them against the evil in the world, fighting side by side, complimenting each other, always watchful. He yearns for that closeness again unconsciously every time their eyes meet, hers glancing off the mask, his boring into her face.

There is urgency in the space between, because another has come to disturb the blissful ignorance of his path toward and away from her. His arch-enemy, _Slade - that bastard_, wants her for his own nefarious plans, has violated her in ways he can only imagine in his nightmares, waits for her even more intently than he does.

But he keeps his silence, waiting for the right time to make his move even as he watches the immovable moon-kissed palor of her cheek, stark against the starless night. There will be time, and they will connect again in dreams. Every night, he hopes it will last forever. Every day, he forgets she was even there.

And he is still waiting, waiting to touch her again.


	5. Interruption

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #5 ("ano sa . . . " or "hey, you know . . . ): Interruption

She heard him breathe before she saw him. It wasn't hard to detect the nervousness vibrating outward from the epicenter of his abdomen. All she wanted to was to read her book in peace. Now, she had to deal with him.

"Hey, you know --"

"No, and I don't want to either." There. That ought to shut him up.

"But, Raven --"

"Are you deaf?"

"It's --"

"Shut up."

"I'm --"

"Reading."

"Damn it, listen --"

"Later."

"Why can't --"

"You, be quiet."

"Fine, I'll --"

"Go aw-mmmmph." Raven found her words swallowed from her lips, lips that were currently and unwillingly attached to his. Violet eyes were wide and shocked. Neither registered the sound of breaking glass and a feminine shriek.

Several moments passed, Raven frozen, her book long fallen to the floor from her numb fingers, and Robin holding himself completely still, his lips caressing hers. Finally, he parted from her, an arrogant smirk blooming on his face. "Ready to listen now?

Completely unbalanced, the Dark Girl nodded dumbly.

His smirk widened, face still close to hers. "I wanted to know if you would like to catch a movie tonight." Again, a silent, stiff nod.

Having completed his mission, Robin bent to pick up the half-read book off the floor and handed it to her. "Sorry for interrupting your reading time."

The smirk was on his face for the rest of the night.


	6. Fall

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #6 (the space between dream and reality): Fall

There are many dark places within her mind, but none so without light as the very edges where she must be numb. It is there that her receptors seem concentrated, where the invisible antennae seem to connect to her head, emotive feelers that pluck at the strands of loaded color every living being gives off.

She wonders if it is overload that will eventually drown her into oblivion, weigh her down from sanity to the deep abyss of Hell. _Will it hurt? Will I be conscious after the Fall? Will I kiss my father's red cheek and thank him for planting me?_ Then she realizes that thinking of it in such a way is like admitting it will come to pass.

Her heart knows very little hope for she has seen one future, Starfire another, and both are bleak reflections of destruction. It is a discouraging prospect that of the two possibilities, even the one that boasts purification holds no joy. _What are emotions if one cannot share them?_

There is only one certainty: a change was in her future; and she has taken to spending many hours in meditation mulling over the possible scenarios that will push her one way or the other. Perhaps it will prove to be betrayal or loss that sends her over the edge, or her father may tempt her with promises of some unattainable, unreasonable thing or happenstance. She tries to picture the outcome, always coming back to their horrified faces and stony bodies, always focusing in on the naked eyes of her leader.

It is his face that she returns to first and last during every session. Even frozen as a living statue, his stance and expression speak of the raw determination he is so adept at pouring into quick action. He will be the last standing against her, she instinctively knows. He will be the last to give up trying to call her back. He will be the last to leave her to the insanity.

She opens her eyes to survey the lively spring landscape of Jump City from her perch on the roof, and takes a deep, relaxing breath to dispel the burning in her chest at the fleeting, impossible thought, _Maybe, he'll be my last hope, and catch me before I fall._


	7. Face

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #7 (superstar): Face

On the rare occasions they would go out for groceries or a mundane little evening at the park, they were swarmed by fans as if they were superstars being hunted by the paparazzi.

And even though it was annoying as all hell, he couldn't - for the life of him - figure out why they seemed to pay less attenton to Raven than the rest of them. It wasn't so much that he was concerned she'd feel left out. As it was, he would be _more_ than happy to give her the entirety of his share. No, it was more that she deserved the free affection more than any of them. That, and, wasn't the dark and mysterious type supposed to be more interesting?

She would stand and watch or sit and read, alone. Always, always alone when the rest of them were bombarded. Not a twitch. Not a flinch. Just calm acceptance and - dare he think it - quiet gratitude that she wasn't in the middle of the storm of camera-flash and autograph books. He didn't begrudge her solitude. After all, next to her, he was the one who guarded her alone time most steadfastly. Rather, he was concerned at the ignorance of the people who so thirsted for their smiles, portraits, and signatures.

Raven was absolutely essential to the team. She was the calm voice in the middle of a crisis, the last line of defense in a bad situation steadily getting worse. Never prying, always listening, she was the one to go to if you simply wanted to air things out without being bothered with unwanted advice. In a way, she was the very center of their collective sanity.

But no one knew that here, in this crowd of screaming fans, young and old. Certainly, there was a solid appreciation for her physical shape on the part of most of the hormone-driven males within the population; but that was where their appreciation ended.

Personally, if one was so simple as to look only at appearances, Robin - though not immune to the petite stature and lush curves, himself - found that he noticed her face more than the roundness of her breasts and the subtle turn of her hip. She rarely showed emotion, her mouth always that straight line of apathy, her eyes flat and cold despite the vibrant hue of the iris; but when she did, he wanted to be sure not to miss a moment for in those all-to-few instances, he was able to catch bare glimpses of what lay just beyond his grasp.

He thought of every smile as a gift, every frown a sign of trust, and every glare a warning born of care. He loved seeing the rose-kissed blushes that would bloom upon her cheeks when she was pleased or mortified and absolutely hated when her eyes would widen in panic as they did when Slade returned on her birthday.

And she was beautiful through it all, understated - almost . . . timid - in her sphere, tightly controlled and compressed. Perhaps that was why she shied away from the cameras and fluttering, pulling hands and loud screams. Perhaps that was why they shied away from her.

Her value was visible only in her face . . . kept hidden beneath a shadowed cowl.


	8. World

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #8 (our own world): World

He is her world, in the night, in the dark, when no one can see them. They come together, two parts of one whole; and she lies with him as he holds her.

She lives for the feel of his skin on hers, their nakedness an innocence rather than a shame. They never speak, and she never worries. There will be day, and he will forget the hours spent breathing each other's breath, curling into each other's presence.

And it is a comfort, a promise for the future, that he calls out _her_ name in that choked, final whisper. She only prays the day will come when she will allow him to remember, because the days grow longer as he shifts closer to the Star; and she knows that if she is to fall, it will be with him, not without.


	9. Name

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #9 (dash): Name

Everything had been taken care of . . . at least, according to him.

She wasn't so sure, however. Her things had been moved out of her old bedroom into her new domicile, arranged in a way that was pleasing to her and her new roommate. The paperwork was filled out, only the signatures were missing, an oversight that would be rectified at the service tomorrow evening. She had called the caterers 12 times today alone to confirm and reconfirm their arrival tomorrow evening. There was the church which had been reserved months ago, and the priest had assured her - repeatedly - that yes, he would be there to preside over the service. Her hair would be styled tomorrow in a pre-chosen upsweep, simple and elegant; and the dress in the corner was a monstrosity of white lace, fluffy and sickeningly sweet with seed pearls and sparkly beads (the work and taste of Starfire) draped on a lopsided mannequin.

Taking a long drag of cooling tea, she closed her eyes and savored the liquid warmth. At least the bridesmaids and groomsmen were already here, sleeping in the Tower to save on travel time (and rescue her from having a nervous breakdown - a truly apocalyptic prospect). And thankfully, Bruce had insisted upon taking care of the reception. She only had to worry about the wedding, which was quite enough of a worry all it's own, thank you very much.

Still, even though everything seemed in order, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was forgetting something. It was driving her completely nuts not to mention from her bed. She was going to have puffy, sunken eyes tomorrow.

A snort broke from her, it must be the first time ever she had given any thought to sleep deprivation and the effect it would have on her appearance.

Drifting through all of the scenarios that could possibly spell disaster for what was supposed to be one of the great hallmarks of her life, she wondered if he had remembered to pick up the rings, whether the tuxedoes fit the boys, and did she have everything _she_ needed . . .

The girls' had - at her insistence (read: command) - tried on their dresses earlier today to make sure there were no last minute alterations needed. Shoes had been labeled with the names of their owners. Make-up palettes had been chosen ahead of time (though she had refrained from that measure as she wouldn't be wearing makeup - he had always known her to be a natural sort of girl and her complexion was as clear and flawless as ever). Maybe it was that old rhyme Selena had been singing tonight at dinner, _Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue._

Her eyes widened. She didn't have the "something borrowed!"

A deep breath and a whimpered mantra later, she was relatively calm again. She would ask for something of Starfire's tomorrow - she looked at the stove digital clock - _today_.

But that wasn't what she was forgetting . . .

Sweet Azar, what if he forgot to set his alarm clock? What if he didn't wake up in time? What if he stood her up at the altar?_I'd kill him._

"You'd kill who?"

His sudden presence caused her hand to jerk, sending tea over the cup rim and onto her bathrobe. She looked up at him with an accusing look as he smiled apologetically and kissed her cheek.

"What are you doing up?"

He settled himself in the seat next to hers, his fingers finding her own. "I could ask the same thing."

"Can't stop thinking that I'm forgetting something."

"Everything has been taken --"

"Care of. Yes. I know, but there's still something niggling at the back of my mind."

Giving a small laugh, he reached out to touch her face. "You worry too much."

She looked directly at him, eyes shining under the white fluorescent lights. "I just want it to be perfect for us."

A self-deprecating grin was her answer. "Maybe we should have eloped."

"Bruce would have us skinned alive if we backed out now." A beat. "Why did he insist on a big wedding anyway?"

"I'm the only kid he's ever raised. He wants to be involved in his only son's wedding."

"Ah."

"Is this helping you remember?"

She gifted him with a rare smile. "No, but the company's nice."

He leered at her as she shrugged out of her tea-stained bathrobe. "I agree."

Draping the robe on a nearby chair, she frowned at him. "Isn't it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?"

"I figure we've already experienced all the bad luck we can possibly handle since we've first met."

She snorted for the second time that night then echoed his earlier words, "I agree."

"Mr. and Mrs. Grayson . . .," he mused quietly, his hand tightening over hers.

_THAT_ was what she had forgotten --

"My name . . . that's what's bothering me. I wanted . . . I mean. I don't have a recorded last name, but I've always wanted to adopt my mother's, and now --"

"You don't have to feel pressured to take my name, Raven. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"But, it's earth tradition."

"Well, if you feel strongly about both names, you could always hyphenate."

She tried it, feeling an involuntary blush color her cheeks, "Raven Roth-Grayson."

They talked a few moments more before deciding that it would probably be wise to get _some_ sleep before their very hectic, special day began; and as they stood before Starfire's room (where Raven would pass her last night sleeping alone), arms embracing, foreheads touching, Raven couldn't help the excited little smile on her face.

"I love you, Mr. Grayson."

"I love _you_, Mrs. Roth-Grayson."

A simple dash had never meant so much.

Then he was walking away for the last time, but there was one last thing Raven had to confirm and re-confirm. "You'd better wake up on time, Robin!"


	10. Baby

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #10 (#10): Baby

The only clue they had was a large, underscored 10 written on a single sheet of folded paper.

"Jeez, can you shut the kid up already!"

Cyborg had been trying to hear the blaring bells and beeps of his newest video game while Robin jostled, rocked, and patted the constantly crying baby left on the Tower doorstep three days ago.

"I'm TRYING. Why don't _you_ give it a try if you think it's so easy!"

Three days without sleep. Three days of non-stop wailing. Three days of trying to find a chance kidnapping/missing person report or sign as to the child's identity. It was no wonder tempers were short and growing shorter.

Even Starfire was looking pale, tired, and generally demoralized. If an attack were to happen now . . .

Raven sighed softly. She was the only one of them who had not tried to calm the child, mostly because she knew that if she got too close, she would become entangled in the baby's pain. Experience had taught her the hard way that children, particularly infants, felt loud, hard, and completely. There was no room for logic or control in them.

Settling down on the far end of the sofa where Robin was trying to soothe the unknown baby boy, Raven allowed the very edges of the child's aura touch her, testing it's composition and trying to identify the problem since they had already exhausted the possibilities of hunger, thirst, hygiene, and warmth.

There was fear there, confusion, and overwhelming bereavement. He missed someone achingly familiar, someone who had left him behind with strange people and strange smells. He wanted to hear that comforting sound again as his special one held him tight to her.

. . . that comforting sound . . .

"Give me the baby." She was suddenly standing before Robin's seated figure, his masked eyes looking up at her, surprised and confused. His tired arms happily stopped bouncing the baby.

"Um, ok."

The bundled, little body was eagerly passed, and Raven - unaccustomed to the new, living weight - gingerly held him in her arms, his tiny neck supported by her elbow. There were long moments of continued crying as she watched impassively, staring into the scrunched up, red face as he was shifted so that his ear was pressed against her left breast, arms cradling him tightly, securely. Waiting, she began to hum under her breath, remembering the soft strains of Azar's voice and sharing that much beloved memory with him.

The baby still cried but his screaming had stopped, and the new, softer volume drew the attention of the other Titans as Raven began to pace the length of the common room, still humming, eyes still locked on the baby in her arms. Soon enough, the little boy's cries had dissolved into minor hiccups, his eyes no longer screwed shut but open and tired and looking at her. She smiled, never breaking the slow melody of her song, and bent to drop a kiss just between his eyes. He had missed feeling loved and safe. The hand beneath his bottom began to pat rhythmically at his haphazardly diapered behind, soft enough to be a non-disturbance but hard enough to be felt.

Her humming became a full-blown lullaby, her words almost echoing in the awed silence as her friends watched, completely taken aback by this new side of their Dark Witch; and, under Raven's protective stare, the baby boy in her arms gave a quiet burp before falling into a deep sleep.

That sweet little smile still fixed on her face, Raven looked up at her friends and whispered that they should get some sleep while the baby was quiet. Cyborg, Beastboy, and Starfire thanked her before quickly running for their respective rooms. Robin stayed behind a moment more to ask if she was going to sleep.

"I'll stay with the baby," was all she said before settling the child on the middle sofa cushion and curling her body around him, acting as a baracade to protect the baby from falling to the floor.

Hours later, Robin went to the Common Room to check on Raven and their unexpected charge. She was where he had left them, sleeping, body curled around the nameless little boy; but the baby was awake, gurgling and probably in need of another diaper change.

Robin smiled down on them for long moments, thinking to himself that - someday, if she were ever freed from whatever force it was that required her to control her emotions - Raven would make an excellent mother. Then, giving into a compulsion he couldn't explain, he bent and kissed her upturned lips before smiling again and moving to wake her.


	11. Connotations

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #11 (gardenia): Connotations

Every year on April 12, he would leave a flower for me, somewhere, anywhere that I and I alone would know it was for me. At first - for that entire first year, actually - I had not understood why it was always on that day, why he did it at all, or how he managed to sneak into my room without alerting me.

The first year, we had only been working together for three months, he had left it on my pillow while I was in the shower. A bunch of periwinkle bonnet-petals fading into yellow winked at me even in the moonlit dark. I had taken up the flowers at the base, studying the little bit of branch that remained to support the hanging petals then carefully pressed them. I didn't understand, but gifts were rare and precious, especially when they came unexpectedly.

The second year found a single Allium resting near my cheek. I had stared at the thousand and one blooms, taking in the blur of white and bright lilac. Sitting up had caused the detail apparent to my eyes to lessen, but the overall complexity of it's structure was beautiful, soft and fuzzy looking despite the many stamen projecting out from the tiny petals. This I pressed as well, placing the book in which the Allium rested next to the book that contained the year old Wisteria.

It was then I realized that these were significant. Two years. April 12. Different flowers. He was the type to pay attention to detail, a detective by trade, and a lover of symbols. So, I did some independent research, and found that there _was_ meaning behind it though I still could not fathom the significance of the date. That information would come later and quite by accident when I entered his mind and saw that it was the date of his parents' death.

Year 1 - Wisteria: _Welcome_; A greeting to someone both foreign and new. Me, a visitor from another dimension. Him, the only person willing to take a chance on me. Together, a fighting force and potential friends.

Year 2 - Allium: _Unity, Humility, and Patience_; The components necessary for effective teamwork, and a reassurance that he would always be there, would always listen to me, and would wait however long he had to in order to gain my trust.

I did not tell him of my discovery, but by then I knew him well enough to know he could probably guess. The next year brought the crisis of a resurrected Slade, a chaotic sixteenth birthday and the fear of my father's entrance into Earth. I had believed he would forget, all things considered, but on April 12th I entered my room after dinner to discover a sprig of white heather lying in the center of my bed. Sitting upon the deep violet blankets, I had caressed the delicate blossoms, marvelng at their perfect cupped shape and the lovely deep mauve of the stems, whimsically smiling at how they reminded me of tiny tea cups. Again, I pressed them to save as memories of my teammate's strange ritual, before searching for the meaning of this particular flower.

Year 3 - White Heather: _Protection. Wishes will come true_; He would protect me, keep me safe. It seemed important to him that it was so. He had promised everything would be all right. He was the only one who knew my wish to stop time had come true. He was the only one who could guess at what wish lay dormant in my heart.

That was the same year Starfire had been given a gardenia, meaning "You're lovely; Secret Love," and I remember thinking, _It's not so secret, Fearless Leader_.

We had defeated Slade (and summarily found out he was immortal) and somehow managed to destroy my father. I had been purified and successfully side-stepped insanity with my friends by my side. My greatest wish had come true, just as his flower had promised; and though it was safe to, I still could not express the joy I felt at the prospect of my fragrant yearly surprise.

On April 12th, yet again, four years after I had first met him, I had been stuck in the med-wing after a particularly intense attack by the HIVE. My leg had been burned quite badly and several bones had been broken. There was too much damage for me to safely heal myself completely without exhausting my body and spirit, so - by choice - I had been sequestered in one of the few clinic-white beds and thought I would be driven batty (finally) by the metallic scenery. On that day, Flower Day - as I had begun to refer to it in my mind, I had woken from a shallow slumber to see the happy hot pink of broad Cyclamen against the drab white of the neighboring cot. I had smiled then, not knowing what it meant, took it up in my palms and imagined that it looked like a lovely tropical bird with it's wings fully spread.

I found out later how apt the visual was.

Year 4 - Cyclamen: _Resignation. Goodbye_; He had left to Bludhaven. His archnemesis was no longer a threat. Jump City would be safe under the care of the rest of us. Nightwing had been born, and the mantle of Robin had been passed on.

I'm not sure who was more heartbroken out of the four of us in the Tower, particularly since he had chosen to leave in the dead of night without giving any sign or warning of his impending departure. Starfire had spoken briefly of leaving, and eventually, she did at the behest of her family. Beastboy eventually drifted away back to show business, and Cyborg remained at the Tower as it was his father's construction and the only home where he had ever felt truly accepted. I stayed with him out of need for a friendly face and because I had no where else to go. We were an odd couple, two almost-siblings who grated on each other's nerves but whose affection for each other knew no bounds; but with the addition of Bumblebee into the mix, I quickly felt like a third wheel and sent myself packing.

The rest of that fifth year passed slowly. There was little to do but work and . . . work. I found myself working as a nameless sap in some corner cubicle at Wayne Enterprises. I knew Bruce Wayne was Robin's benefactor, but it was not that which drove me to the Batman for employment. I simply needed to eat and pay my rent.

I tried not to think about the absense of flowers on April 12. I tried not to think of much at all.

But when I opened my apartment door on Flower Day that fifth year, upon my coffee table lay a single red Rose. Picking it up, I smelled the rich scent and shuffled into the kitchen with a pleased smile upon my face. I would find out what it meant later, I decided, but was further surprised by a nosegay of Bluebells set upon the counter near the telephone. The starlike flowers were a lovely irridescent, white stamen winking from the center of the perfect, open petals. My smile merely widened as I began to hum, tone-deaf and out of tune. My shoes flew off as I kicked them towards a blank wall, and I padded into my bedroom, fully prepared to press my new additions. However, there was a third flower waiting for me, a Spider Flower, white and erratic and beautiful for all of it's complicated lines and contours, the dark sage of the leaves a deep contrast against the cream of my comforter.

I had been pleasantly shocked that he would still think of me after nearly a year apart, but nothing could prepare me for the translation of his three-part message.

Year 5 -  
1. Red rose (single): _Simplicity. I love you._  
2. Bluebells: _Humility. Everlasting love._  
3. Spider Flower: _Elope with me._  
So, here I stand at his doorstep, my hands sweating and shaking as I hold onto the gifts I've brought him along with my answer. Scuffing my feet, I realize that I've never looked so undignified, but I really don't care. My white blouse and gray skirt are the only dress clothes I have.

And suddenly, he's there before me, damp hair hanging into his eyes for once instead of sticking up in all directions due to a habitual misuse of gel. My mouth is limp in its straight line, my teeth clamped tightly shut as I hand him the first of three flowers, the answers to his three messages, hoping he'll understand without having to look it up in a book as I do.

First, Ambrosia. I've chosen a red variety, the vibrant crimson fading into a bright yellow at the center, reminiscent of his old costume. _Your love is reciprocated._

Second, Arbutus. He takes the fragile little sprig of tiny, ivory bells from me from the bit of stem I managed to save. It is twirled slowly between his fingers as he studies the overlarge leaves and nearly overwhelmed blossoms. _Thee only do I love._

Third, a simple, solid red Carnation. Our hands touch upon the stem, just beneath the first rise of curling leaves, and he refuses to break the contact. I look into his unmasked eyes and see that he does understand, that he knows what I'm trying to say without words as he has spoken to me in the past.

Then we are kissing, and it's so much better than any flower upon my pillow, bed, table, or counter, because I know this won't be the last, and I know he can't abandon me now. I'm his as I've always been. He's mine as I never allowed myself to think he would be mine, and my answer rings between us without sound or gesture. There is just the symbol, a single, solid red Carnation.

_Yes._


	12. Smile

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #12 (in a good mood): Smile

It was a rare thing when Raven was in a good mood, rarer still when such an occurrence was apparent. The signs were few and almost insubstantial - a relaxing of her brow, slight softening at the corners of her mouth, and a willingness to participate in idle conversation.

Lately, however, her good mood had graduated to a state that even the media had taken note of it. In addition to the smooth space surrounding her chakra stone, there was a nearly constant - almost _warm_ - Mona Lisa smile, small and mysterious; a tiny, almost undetectable lilt in her usually flat voice; and a luminous sparkle in her eyes.

Her friends were confused as to the reason for her unusual cheer, but did not begrudge their Dark Witch a bit of happiness. Therefore, they did not question her, did not worry that - perhaps - it might be another Malchior incident in the making. Raven was anything but oblivious. She wouldn't fall for the same trick twice, and the relationships between the individual members of their group had deepened since then. Of course, it was possible that purification had made it safe for her to show her emotions, but she had never taken the time to explain the implications of her new, white-garbed persona. They had concluded that her joy was genuine.

But Cyborg had always been protective of the petite girl, and when he caught her _singing_ a _love ballad_ as she fixed her morning tea, he knew something _wierd_ (and potentially dangerous) was going on.

"Hey, Dark Girl. You've been in a good mood lately."

She smiled at him, a blush blooming on her cheeks even as the cup in her hand pulsed with black energy. "I suppose I have."

He settled himself at the kitchen table, ignoring the piles of dirty dishes and growing specter of blue mold. Only Raven's portion of the kitchen was ever clean. "Wanna tell me why?"

Her snort was a seeming relic of the "old" Raven. "I need a reason?"

"I've known you for five years. You've always said you needed to control your emotions."

"Mmm, I do . . . still do. It's not dangerous anymore, but I'm afraid that if I let myself feel too much, too fast I'll drive myself insane."

She had joined him at the table, and he had covered her hand with his metal one. "I want to thank whatever it was that put that smile on your face then."

The smile widened, became sweeter, and he realized suddenly that she was beautiful. "Thanks Cyborg. I appreciate that." Then she was up and walking away, patting his shoulder as she passed him to enter the hall.

And as she stepped into the darkened corridor, tea in hand, Raven pressed the fingers of her free hand to her still-smiling lips wishing she was the type to kiss and tell; and she also gave thanks for what put the smile on her face, for what made her feel so many wonderful things that she couldn't suppress them completely - _Thank you, Robin._


	13. Break

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #13 (excessive chain): Break

Jagged, swirling, the red lines of her birthmarks twisting down and across her body, luminous against the pale ash of her skin and the black of her leotard. Red as blood. Tattooed and burning into her flesh. The only visible stamp of the heritage given her by her father.

The pull had always been there, wrapped around her neck like a too-tight collar attached to a too-long chain. She had sought to stretch that leash to the brink, running away to Earth where she could galvanize a force against him.

But she couldn't outrun his influence, the hold he had on her mind.

The red markings staining, marring her seemingly flawless cold exterior were more than the symbols of his presence inside her mind. They were a claim upon her soul. They were a sign of possession. They were a brand. Not just a daughter, she would be his slave.

Her knuckles kissed the glass of her full-length mirror, breaking the fragile surface, and she watched - numb - as the silvery fragments flashed and collapsed to the ground at her feet. Her knuckles now matched her palms, red as blood, torn and bleeding.

"Raven?"

Her eyes turned to see him, a hulking dark shadow spanning her doorway.

"Robin."

"I heard something break. Are you alright?"

She turned back to her distorted reflection as the red faded, leaving only the imprint of an after-image upon her retinas.

"I'm fine."

And she hoped he believed her this time, because she had no more room to run, and she wasn't strong enough to break the chain.


	14. Song

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #14 (radio-cassette player): Song

There were two things Robin never thought he would do after first becoming Robin that - with the passage of years - had occurred.

First, he had believed he would never set down the mask of the crime fighter, thought he would die in the line of duty, wanted the glory that would follow such a demise. This desire had been reinforced as he had grown into his Nightwing persona, going solo and proving his mettle time and again against the most dastardly of super-villains with his own finely honed super-skills and wit.

But he had been wrong, so very wrong.

Second, Robin - directly after forming the Teen Titans with Raven - had made a private vow to himself that he would never, ever give up his bachelorhood. It was one of those impulsive, teenage promises, but one he took very seriously. He did not want to care too much about one person, especially since he guarded his identity so jealously and . . . He knew first hand sorts of disasters could happen if a relationship were to spring between a superhero and a civilian . . . or even two superheroes. It was ugliness that he never wanted to subject another to.

That's why it was still such a surprise to him that he was where he was.

Husband. Father. CEO. No longer a night prowler. No longer a one-man army of justice. And content. Happy. Complete.

He smiled, serene, when he heard muted rustling then a distinct laughing gurgle coming from the baby monitor. Gingerly, he picked up the little listening device and tried to picture the scene unfolding with only sound.

Her blue-violet hair would be up in a high pony-tail (to keep out of their son's very curious reach), the shorter strands falling around her ears and neck. Her shirt would be skewed across her shoulders, spittle and spots of baby food staining the white fabric. She would look tired, he knew, but . . . quiet, calm, peaceful with a soft mouth and softer eyes. Bare arms would hold the baby carefully, closely as they cradled and rocked the infant to and fro, readying the child for bed.

Once laid, the baby would punch and kick the air, smiling his drooling baby-smile while she tickled his chubby tummy with one finger, preparing the radio-cassette player with her free hand.

He had asked her once, why she didn't just sing lullabies to their son; and she had replied that she wasn't made for talking let alone singing. After that, he had to admit to being rather tone deaf himself, and so, their son was made to fall asleep listening to the rather antiquated cassette tape of Peter, Paul, and Mary Pappy Bruce had managed to find in his cellar (Robin - or Dick - had wondered at how someone like his foster father had made such an acquisition).

But tonight, there was no 'click' as the tape slid into place, no audible depression of the 'play' button, just silence then . . . humming.

The voice was at once familiar and new, somewhat hoarse but still sweet in its way - a long quivering whine that smoothed into the melody of _Puff, the Magic Dragon_, their son's favorite (meaning, of course, that it never failed to put him to sleep).

Long moments passed as he listened to her struggle through the song, and he suddenly wished he were there to take up the harmony - not that it would have sounded all that wonderful. He knew this was her way of showing how much she loved their family, giving the gift of her voice.

Then there was silence, light rustling as she - no doubt - bent to press a kiss to her palm then the baby's forehead, a whispered "I love you," and nothing.

It was several seconds before she appeared in his study door just as he pictured her - hair in a messy up sweep, sleeveless white top marked, stained, and pulled. He knew how tired she was, how tired they both were; but - still - how happy. The life they had broken away from to build together was exquisite, one he wouldn't trade for the glory of the hunt. Ever.

Leaving his work for the morning, he greeted her with a warm embrace into which she readily sunk, and he began to shakily hum as his arms accommodated her weight, carrying her to their bedroom.


	15. Cloak

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #15 (perfect blue): Cloak

They were watching _Perfect Blue_ when he asked. Considering it was the climax of the movie, with the true killer about to be unveiled; well, was it any wonder that she smacked him?

"Ow!"

"Shut up, Robin."

Starfire giggled, popping a kernel of popcorn in her mouth, Beastboy praised her aim with a jubilant, "Good One," and Cyborg just grinned at her proudly.

She had NEVER smacked anyone before. These people were obviously corrupting her with their silliness.

"But I just wanted --"

"Robin. If you like having your head connected to your body, I advise you to drop it until the movie's over."

Minutes later, Raven chewed on her tongue to keep from screaming at the idiot next to her who would not let go of her cloak. She suddenly had thoughts of going Rumi on his ass. That woman had some very creative ways of killing, and now that the movie was over . . .

Her head swiveled to meet his masked eyes. "Drop. The. Cloak."

"Why do you wear a cloak, anyway? After today I'm not so sure it's a good look for you."

_Ah, so he's an idiot who's concerned for me._ They had been fighting Slade's robots in an abandoned warehouse, chasing down another dead-end lead as to the man's whereabouts, when Raven had been thrown near an active turbine. Her cloak had become tangled, pulling her into the lethal blades with great speed. Only Cyborg's quick thinking and a strategically shot energy beam saved her ass.

"Nothing happened, Robin. We all made it back in one piece."

"This time."

"Exactly. Nothing is certain in our line of work."

There was a subtle shift in his position, a deepening in the brow, and suddenly Cyborg was clearing the room of Starfire and Beastboy. Obviously, he thought World War III was about to erupt. Good thing she knew how to hold her temper.

"Raven. It might be a nice fashion statement, but that thing is dangerous."

"How kind of you to protect me from my own clothes."

"I'm serious."

"Really? And here I thought you just wanted a better view of my girlish figure."

"You _will_ get rid of the cloak."

"Fine. As long as you get rid of your costume color scheme."

"WHAT! My costume is not the issue here!"

"It should be."

"Honestly, I'm amazed no one has shot you yet. You're a clear target even in the dark."

"This outfit has sentimental value." It was delivered through clenched teeth.

"So does my cloak."

"Raven --"

"Robin." Sweet Azar, he had her _singing_ his name.

He stared at her for long moments before heaving a great sigh and surprising her with a kiss on the forehead. "I'm glad you're alright."

Then he was up and walking away while she just stared at his retreating back.

Maybe . . . maybe she could compromise with him. Later. After a few hours of meditation.


	16. Ash

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #16 (invincible; unrivaled): Ash

He wakes up sometimes, mask on and sweating, and hopes it was all a dream. His eyes scan his room, blotting out the one aspect that confesses reality, before his feet take the silent trek two doors down the hall.

Her chamber is death-still and dark. Empty.

Like him.

Standing there, he remembers slowly and wishes he wouldn't. All this time, he believed he had saved her from a life of lonely helplessness when, in fact, it was her that saved him from himself. She was a steadfast reminder of what he aspired to while simultaneously proving herself as his most reliable friend.

_We have a bond._

And that bond, cut so recently, tortures his mind. Having to think of her in past tense (as Cyborg and others have constantly coached him) threatens to tear down walls he never knew existed. It is ironic that, in her absence, he is discovering her for the first time.

His memory is filled with ghosts of thoughts past. When he first knew her, when he first began to care, he would lay in bed and wonder. _What will she look like when she dies?_ He had not yet begun to think of her as invincible, as the capable, unrivaled Black Witch of Jump City; and it was several months into their partnership, into their friendship until he scrounged up the courage to watch her sleep. Her complexion had always been so pale, ashen, deathlike. Sleep and moonlight only seemed to darken the shadows beneath her eyes and hug the corners of her mouth, and in those moments he could believe she was fully dead.

It made him cold then. It freezes him now.

She died in her sleep - or that's what he tells himself. His usually sharp, agile mind can not contemplate, register, nor recall the pool of blood they had found her twisted body laying in. It is easier to paint violet the red and dark the white tile of the bathroom floor, to smooth her brow and straighten the lines of her body into a calm repose.

Leaning against her door, he closes his eyes, praying it was all some drug-induced hallucination as it had been when Slade's powder had infiltrated his mind. She had saved him from himself then, just one of the many by her hand. The memory he hates most is the one made three days ago when they commended her to earth. It will always be his great regret that she never let them close enough to know how her death would have been treated in Azarath.

Her hair had been cleansed and neatly spread, framing her pixie face, a few stubborn strands dusting her lips. She looked as she did when asleep - calm, quiet, still - only garbed in her leotard with her cloak spread over her like a blanket. On her fingers they had placed the rings she guarded so religiously - Azar's rings. He remembered wondering if Raven now dwelled with her old mentor, if she was happy as she couldn't be with them, alive.

The four of them, the remainder of the once complete Teen Titans, had lined her casket with flowers. There was a combination of yellow Zinnias, Fir, and dark crimson Roses from all Raven had touched - few as they numbered; and there were the Orchids from Starfire, Heather from Beastboy, pink Carnations from Cyborg, and blue Hyacinth from him(1) . . . All of the flowers had been suggested or nominated by him.

He touches dry lips with a dry tongue as he remembers kissing her cold mouth good-bye, and wishes - again - that this were all a dream. He would wake up, and she would as well, and he would protect her from whatever nightmares had caused her to exit the dream.

But he is weighed down by the reality of her dark, empty room; anchored by the lingering scent of flowers in the air; trapped by the haunting feel of freshly turned soil against his palms; and haunted by the taste of her still burning upon his lips.

A flavor of hidden tears and too many if-onlys. A flavor of longing and savored death. A flavor of endings and lost beginnings.

The taste of fresh ashes and love known too late.

(1) A hold-over from "Connotations" - Flower meanings are! yellow Zinnias, Daily Remembrance; dark crimson Roses, Mourning; Fir, Time; Orchids, Mature Charm; Heather, Admiration, Solitude; pink Carnation, I'll Never Forget You; blue Hyacinth, Constancy. Interpret as you will! (I already have my own XD).


	17. Canvas

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #17 (kHz - kilohertz): Canvas

Last to appear, first to leave, she had disappeared without a word of welcome or goodbye, gone back to her empty white room and her empty white world full of ghosts and visions and --

_"She's broken. You can't fix people, Rob. I can't fix her . . ."_ That's what Cyborg had said when he had finally come out of his Star-less funk years ago. He could have helped her through the drain of abandonment. They could have helped each other, but he had broken a promise to her made eons ago and her mind had paid for his mistake.

Nightwing looked at his two remaining old(er) friends and opened his mouth to ask after their lives in his absence; but they were looking at the space where she had stood, warm and pale and lovely, seconds ago . . . next to him. He realized then that he had missed her, that he had missed her long before he had ever had an inkling of a thought to strike out on his own.

Now that the shocks of seeing Star again and reuniting the team had passed, he could reflect on her brief presence. She had been more controlled. The white cloak had been a surprise, a pleasant one, and he smiled slightly. "She's rid herself of her rage."

The smile fell as Cyborg clucked his tongue and shook his bald head. "There wasn't anything left to get rid of."

BB was silent, staring -- accusing. "This is your fault. You were the one she depended on, and you let her down! You let us all down!"

When he spoke, it was calm, cold, and deadly. "I was the last one there for her. Where the hell were you?"

He remembered when they were young(er). She had acquired an album of abstract artworks. Her eyes were always searching a specific piece that - to him - looked to be nothing more than a bunch of squiggly lines and paint blotches randomly placed on a dirty canvas; and once, he had even scrounged up the courage to ask after what she found so interesting about it.

With a blush (interesting in and of itself), she had traced yellow zig-zags and white-mixed-red strokes, _"It reminds me of flying. Fast. Chaotic. Dangerous. Here is the lights of the city zooming by, and this is the water rushing beneath my body, the cars being left behind, and the endless sky above lit by lightning."_

Watching her face, he had been struck by the bitter-sweet frown marring her features. Flying was supposed to be freeing, wasn't it? _"Where are you flying to?"_

Her eyes had met his at that moment, and he recalled feeling as if it was the first time she had ever looked at him with complete honesty. _"The End."_

Now that he was older, now that he had seen her "End," he thought he might know how to reach her. Better late than never. _Better late than never._

"Where is she, Cyborg? I have to talk to her. We can't be separated again." It suddenly occurred to him to wonder if he was talking about the Titans or just him and Raven. He would be the first to admit he had missed her, but he had never given any thought to just how much until now.

Staring, measuring, Cyborg frowned for long moments, the corners of his mouth wrinkling into shadow. "She's where you left her . . . I don't think she sleeps so you won't be disturbing her, but she's not sane, Rob. She's a lot worse than she was the last time you . . . visited."

And bound to get even worse if he didn't put a stop to her hopelessness. He suddenly knew this wouldn't be a quick fix. She would need his presence, support, and assurance for years to come; and even then, she might never be the same Raven she had been all those years ago. She might never get better. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Is her old room still standing?"

BB grumbled, "We left it as it was . . . kept hopin' she would come back."

_Never coming back. I'm never coming back. Never._

He nodded but said nothing more. There was nothing more to say.

It seemed an eternity before he reached the Tower, before he reached the cobweb infested wreck of her old bedroom. There was familiarity there, a softness despite the sharp colors and broken trinkets. He found the book of art without much difficulty. Raven had always been meticulously clean and organized, an outward expression of her orderly mind. Perhaps the absence of everything that mattered was reflected in the absence of color in her life. White cloak. White walls. White floor. No windows. No furniture. No personal items. Only her shadow to keep her company. Lack of sleep. Lack of peace. Lack of . . . life.

He ran to her now as he should have years ago. Every minute she was left alone, was another minute she drowned further, flew faster, entangled deeper into "The End."

She was crouched low, her face shadowed by the cowl and hands bunched into the cloak. Her eyes met his through the brightness, and he felt as if their roles had suddenly reversed. He used to be the bright one - all red, yellow, and green - bold and visible. Now he was the shadow and she was the light; but where he was full of the chaos she had so admired and feared in that painting, she was now an empty canvas, all white and dull around the edges.

"Raven."

"Go away."

"And leave you to your phantoms? I don't think so."

She seemed to struggle for long moments, and he took the opportunity to crouch down next to her, reach out and slowly, tentatively lower the hood covering her features. Her hair, much longer than it had been the last he had seen it, tumbled around her shoulders and down her back, framing a face that was still achingly sad and completely exquisite. Time and age had been good to her, even if she was insane.

"You are nothing. Leave. You always do."

He shook his head and grabbed the hand she had raised to pull the hood back into place. "Feel me. I'm _real_, Raven. I'm not going anywhere."

Silence and staring were his answer, but he wasn't discouraged. It was too early. He had too much damage to work through, but for the moment, he could at least prove to her that he wasn't some figment of her imagination.

"Do you remember that painting? You said it reminded you of flying toward the end?"

Wide, violet eyes watched carefully as he opened the book to the well-worn page, _Kilohertz_ by Bertram Ramsey. Thin, tapered fingers graced the page, tracing the very yellow zig-zags and white-mixed-red strokes she had shown him an eternity ago. She whispered, "Here is the lights of the city . . . but they've all gone out, and this is the water rushing beneath my body . . . but it's all dried up, the cars being left behind . . . dead drivers behind steering wheels and snow piling on top, and the endless sky above lit by lightning . . . too cloudy to see."

He bowed his head, praying to a God he didn't believe in for strength before purposefully tearing out the page that so haunted the both of them. "Where are you flying to now, Raven?"

Her hand still trapped by his, she tried to squirm away, but he was too fast and she was too weak. Her chin was caught between his fingers as he further invaded her personal space. "Where, Raven?"

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes fixed on his as they used to - somehow finding his eyes through the mask. "I don't know. I don't know anything, anymore."

It didn't matter that her body was tense or that he didn't really know what he was doing, Nightwing could only breathe a sigh of relief as he caught her up in his arms and she let him. "Then we'll learn together. We'll learn together."

In his arms, cradled by his body, she shuddered and wound her arms around him. "Together."

"That's right. Never alone. Not again. I'm so sorry, Raven."

"No more . . . Not the end . . ."

"No." Behind her back, he ripped her personal apocalypse and vowed to burn the pieces later before holding her tighter, pressing a kiss into her hair. "This is the beginning."

The beginning of better times. The beginning of both their healing processes. The beginning of what should have been. The beginning of the rest of their lives. The beginning stroke of a two part portrait upon her blank canvas.

**Note**: The painting and artist mentioned here do not exist. Also, this ficlet was based on the future shown in the episode "How Long is Forever."


	18. Season

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #18 (an or "say ahh . . ."): Season

"Say ahh . . . " There was a metal spoon inching towards her face, and attached to that spoon was a black glove covering a large hand attached to a strong arm stretched from a grinning masked idiot once known as "The Boy Wonder."

_snort_

The only "wonder" was how he had managed to stay alive so long.

"If that spoon moves any closer to me, it will find a new home shoved up your nose."

He had the **gall** to _chuckle_ at her. "In your hour of need, I try to be a good friend and protect you from dehydration and starvation; and a threat is the thanks I get."

"I have the flu. I have NOT lost the ability to move my appendages." She sniffled then blew her nose quite unattractively. To be quite honest, she really didn't give a fly fuck in hell if she was attractive at that moment. More concerning was the rush of nausea and a sudden increase in saliva production.

There was a hand at the back of her head and a bucket to her neck faster than the bile could rise past her throat. "Let it go, Raven. Don't fight it."

Involuntary tears streamed down her face as she got her bearings and wiped at her lips. His hand was still clutching her hair back from her face, the other swiping at her forehead and cheeks with a cool, wet cloth. "Damn Earth virus."

The quirk of his grin made her want to slap him. "You weather it well."

"What are you? My personal cheerleader?"

"I like to refer to the role as care giver."

"Chronic Irritation would be more accurate."

The spoon was once again presented to her. "Eat. Raven."

Her look, she was sure, was one of calm exasperation. "I just vomited. The last thing I want to ingest is manufactured chicken soup."

His look, she noticed, was one of self-righteous indignation. "I made this soup with my own two hands."

Raven couldn't help her rising eyebrow. "Of course. And that we have not had fresh, frozen or cooked chicken, clean dishes, or a mold-free kitchen since the refrigerator was stocked at move-in was a complete hallucination. I didn't know you even knew we had a stove let alone how to use it."

Sheepish and - more importantly - caught, he fidgeted with a packet of saltine crackers. "Fine. I admit it's heated canned soup. Why do you keep fighting me on this?""Why do you insist on playing nursemaid?" Her hands clutched the blankets tighter as a strong chill racked through her 3-layer-flannel clad body. As soon as she had shown signs of being 'under the weather,' her friends had jumped to do whatever they could to make her comfortable - from offering various home remedies (Starfire's had sounded . . . unique to say the least) to fetching her whatever she might need. After about ten minutes of taking to her bed with a high fever, she had felt smothered and extremely irritable. Beastboy had earned a sound tongue-lashing within the first day of her illness. He had yet to return. Starfire had decided to care for her from afar after the Dark Witch spewed chunks all over the Tamaranian's new uniform. Cyborg - Raven's nurse of choice - had recently experienced a short circuit which he was trying to fix.

That left her with Rob -- Nightwing.

_Lucky me._

"Maybe I'm trying to get in touch with my maternal instinct."

_And he thinks he's funny. The gods must hate me._

This time she **did** slap him. Softly. They were friends after all. Even if he was a constant pain-in-the-ass.

"Hey! What did I do to deserve that?" He looked wounded. Like a lost puppy that's just been kicked off the lawn.

She wasn't going to fall for that. Her body might be fevered, achy and tired, but her mind was as active as ever. The amusement zinging around him was as palpable as the heart beating in her chest. "I'm tired. Leave me alone."

"But you haven't eaten."

"Not hungry."

"Raven."

"Mother." Her breath immediately caught. Even in jest, the title was hurtful to speak. She couldn't help but wonder . . .

He was staring at her. She didn't have to look at him to know that. There was a quiet sort of comfort to having his eyes on her even if she couldn't see them. "You miss her."

"You miss yours, too."

A sigh as his weight shifted on the bed and the spoon settled once and for all in the bowl of cooling soup. "I lost mine a long time ago."

"It doesn't get easier, does it?"

"No. Not easier. You do get stronger though. It becomes routine to deal with it. And someday, you won't have to work so hard to remember the good memories instead of the bad."

Another silence, this one not as strained. Deftly, a thermometer was popped into her mouth and just as deftly taken out. Eyes on his long hair, she discerned his nod before his hands settled into his lap and his mouth lost the last vestiges of its grinning curve. "Do you ever think of the future?"

_Does he **want** to be slapped again?_ "What part of 'I'm tired. Leave me alone.' don't you understand?"

His hand was suddenly on her knee. How was it she could feel his touch burning through a glove, four blankets, a sheet, and three layers of flannel pajamas? Was he trying to make her fever _worse_?

"Humor me. Ever think about it?"

"How far into the future are we talking?"

"When this is all over."

"When what is all over?" For once, she wasn't being sarcastic.

"The Titans. Crime fighting. The Superhero gig."

_Whoa. Just . . . _"Who are you, and what have you done with Nightwing?" In Raven's world, there was no future. If tomorrow came then bully to her and everyone who got to see it without demonic parents coming to claim their seeds and destroy humanity. In Raven's world, the Titans would be together until she died and probably after. She was, after all, destined for an extremely short life. Imagine her upset when she had lived to see her 25th birthday. Life without the fighting had never been an option. She had believed it to be the same with Rob -- NIGHTWING, DAMN IT.

"I'm serious, Raven."

"So am I. I thought you were in this for the long haul."

He looked away, and she could tell, simply from his profile, that he was dead serious and completely confused. "I thought so too, but lately . . ."

"Everything has their season. Maybe yours is turning."

His grin is back, but there is no desire to slap it from his face this time. "You've been listening to my old albums again, haven't you?"

Determined to retain whatever shred of dignity she had left after he had suffered her snot, spit, vomit and tears, Raven steadfastedly refused to let him see her blush or admit to liking The Byrds. "Maybe I'm just an old philosopher at heart."

"So, do you?"

_Truth or dare, Raven . . . _"Sometimes. Now that Trigon's gone . . . Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be selfish, to not subject myself to mortal danger everyday, to not have to see my friends getting hurt."

"Settling down?"

"That too. What brought this on?"

The grin turned into a genuine smile as he raised her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles before releasing them to be huddled back towards her body. The smile only grew wider - _flirtatious_ even - as he noticed her disgruntled, slack-jawed look. "Nothing in particular. Sweet dreams, Raven."

Nightwing moved, silent as a shadow, from her room - not even the soup laden tray in his hands clinking with his steps; and she watched after him, marveling at the feeling enveloping her at the memory of that last smile. It was a warmth akin to the embrace of her cloak just out of the dryer or the seldom given, heartfelt hugs from Azar. It was a memory that was remembered in the heart rather than the mind.

It made her smile, and her dreams were, indeed, sweet.


	19. Candle

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #19 (red): Candle

It is the beginning. They are alone, two over-mature children who have seen too much and have had to learn to deal without guidance. She is silent, cold and consistently quiet. He is busy, nervous and constantly moving.

Neither sleep in the dusky half-light. Neither wake with the sun. They are afraid and excited, kindred spirits ready to take on the world because there is no one else to fight their battles.

It is in the between hours, when they rest without the comfort of dreams or disturbing nightmares, that he discovers her hate of fire and she learns of his fear of the dark. It is then that the tradition begins - with a dark room and a single red candle held within her palm.

They sit by the sparce light, talking of nothing and everything until the dark melts away and the little flame runs low.

As the years pass, the play is reenacted on the anniversary of their first meeting, always on that day for the traumatic deaths of their loved ones have made them all-too-clearly aware that life ends abruptly and while one should remember those departed, one should also celebrate the events that brought them into their lives. So, on that day, she waits for darkness to fall before slipping into his room, a single lit, blood red candle cupped in her hands, it's warmth a subtle kiss against her skin.

And within the illuminating circle, growing with each reaffirmation, the fear disipates a little more, the hurts that created the hatred becomes a little less; and they discover that the bonds they create are more important than the reason behind their yearly ritual. Friendship, trust, compassion, understanding - they bind and reinforce, connect and protect them through the fire, in the dark, till the end.


	20. Path

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #20 (the road home): Path

She wakes that morning with pain in her back, bleeding gums, and an overwhelming urge to purge - usual for this time of gestation. It is only after she leaves her warm bed and relieves herself that she realizes it is barely dawn. Still, the pale light calms her as the shadows lessen and the salty, ocean air pervades the little cabin through an open window. It is paradise in hell, a little peace amidst the chaos of the world. Perfection.

Just as he had promised, and he always keeps his promises.

Lips soften in a tiny smile that speaks volumes of contentment, her violet eyes finding his body, sprawled as it is atop the bed sheets. He never could keep to his side, but the nightmares have subsided significantly since she told him of her state. She can forgive his need to fill the empty spaces when she leaves.

There is the gentle cawing of seagulls echoing in her ears, the embracing crash and sift of the waves along the shore. Only a week has passed since their arrival here, and already she knows she never wants to leave - even if it is just the two of them and he sometimes drives her crazy. They call to her, the errant bird and the deceptive drift of water over sand; and before she knows what she is doing, her hand has scrawled a loving note with pen and paper, her bare feet stepping lightly from wood plank deck to pearl white sand.

The breeze is light and chill, the sun growing high and warm. The sky is a lovely pink-orange teetering to yellow, and - as her toes find wet, packed granules - the water is delightfully waking cold.

Something about this place gives her the inner serenity she has been searching for her entire life. It is genuine and honest - a filling thing that did not come with bartered emotion. She imagines it flows from her as the undulating tides and the icy sea foam that licks at her heels - a joy that is at once a heated pulse of bursting glow and a soothing, cool breeze blowing gently across her active nerves; and she must wonder, as she stares out at the brightening horizon, if it is evident in the new twinkle of her eyes or the growing swell of her abdomen.

It is no secret between them that she does not wish to leave this secluded, quiet place. Certainly, she misses their friends, their _family_ - even Bruce and especially Alfred (the man knows how to give a mean foot massage); but she has relished the privacy they have found here. Here, away from the bustling noise of a violent city and the dangerous intentions of rampant criminals, they have found a calm that is valuable for its scarcity. Here, there are no distractions or interruptions, just themselves and their feelings, the sand and the waves catching, pulling, drifting, finding.

"Hey." His voice is soft. It is how they have spoken to each other since the first hour here, hushed tones and lulling cadences.

"Hey, yourself." There is now the weight of his hands and a light coat upon her shoulders as his arm wraps around her, bringing her into his side. Her smile widens naturally, and it is now reflex that causes her to relax against his hold and rest her head upon his chest.

"You look pensive. Sick again?" His worry is a warm balm slathered thinly across her consciousness as the rough tangle of seaweed washes against their toes. Her hands reach back to find his cheek, the heat of his skin reminding her sunbeams and nights by the fire.

"Merely setting up house." She knows that he knows what she means.

Her life has been a play of two distinct acts: the BEFORE - Azarath, control, fragmentation, isolation, fighting, hopelessness, and fear; and the AFTER - Earth, purification, unification, friendship, emotion, learning, and love.

During the BEFORE she could not know herself because she could not own herself as others did. Her mind was a mess of feigned order in the guise of a separate universe; and she was merely a traveling visitor, a cosmic cleaning lady who made scheduled appointments to administrate, organize, and assess. There dwelled the pieces that supposedly constituted the whole - color cloaked and wearing her face, mere figments that she at once was and was not. And though Nevermore had been constructed with purpose, it could never give her comfort for it was the house of her demons, never offer sanctuary for it was not meant to grant her peace, and never advertise protection for it was her greatest weakness. Always guarded, she could never know any thought or feeling fully for it would mean the loss of her very necessary control and the safety of every living person she was supposed to protect.

It was only with the AFTER that she began to explore the mystery that is herself. She has now been given opportunities to feel the bare intensity of unfiltered pain, joy, sadness, love, passion, hatred, anger, happiness, and so many others. The individual emotions are filed and named, locked up safe close to her heart near the place where her sweet burden's feet sometimes nestle painfully between her ribs. Nevermore is now a barren space she has yet to fully discover. It has been cleared of its prior tenants, but she is not yet ready to move in. She is still driving a rented U-haul down the long, bumpy road but making good progress. These quiet moments are the ones that see her traveling farthest - when it is only her, him, and the comfortable silence; and when she is feeling most introspective, she calls it, 'setting up house' for that is what she is doing - feeling out the living space of her own mind, acquainting herself with the dark, the light, and depths and shallows.

"You'll get there someday." His assurance is not empty as some might think. She has not only been 'guest' within her own psyche but his as well. It is a visitation they renew occassionally when they are closest to one another, a bonding ritual that only reinforces what was always there.

They stand for long moments, silent, letting the tranquility of the atmosphere smooth over their bodies and still their souls. Soon, he is taking her hands and guiding her into the knee-high surf, bracing her as the tide pushes and pulls at her ankles. An unexpected surge tips her balance enough so that she crashes into him, his arms taking her in at once to secure and warm her against the cool morning breeze. She sighs and turns her head towards the expansive gray-blue ocean, staring out into the unending vision of forever.

"Do we have to leave this place?" Her arms tighten around him slightly, and she feels a thrilling tremor dance up her spine when he squeezes her in return. She nuzzles at the soft cotton of his shirt, her eyes never leaving their study of the rising sun.

"'Fraid so. I don't want to go either, if it's any consolation." The kiss he presses into her hair is shaped like his smirk.

"Don't want to go home?" It is anathema. Crime-fighting is in his blood. She cannot picture him in this place forever where there is no one but the two -- three of them, the beach and the sand.

"_You_ are my home. By the way, thank you for leaving a path for me, but I could still clearly see you from the cabin." There is a note of amusement, and she can understand why.

"I was thinking the same thing about you. Sometimes I forget I'm not as fast as I usually am. I seem to be carrying this extra burden lately." Their hands meet and crowd where her tummy has become most rounded. The stirring there begins as if it never stopped, and the interior hiccups begin again. She has not flown since she realized her soul was not the only spirit inhabiting her body. She has not manifested her power since she knew their child is a son.

"We still have another week here. Let's not waste it." But he does not drift further from dry land nor does he move towards their cabin, just rests his forehead against hers, blue eyes open and staring into hers.

"I still think we should have the baby here." Her look is one of pleading, the manner of her jibe easy. It is something she only has with him, this wondrous open freedom of expression; but she knows he will not back down on this point, no matter how many times she's explained that on Azarath women usually give birth alone. It is no longer an issue of contention between them, provoking heat and anger. There is no room for such friction here, and she now understands his concerns.

He shrugs and mutters a light 'maybe,' then scoops her into his arms as she shrieks and laughs, his smile taken with her belated 'good morning' kiss. When they are both breathless, and he reaches the open sliding glass door to their bedroom, he sets her down and wraps her up again.

And she never wants to leave, because she has traveled through dimensions, killed herself a thousand times, been the center of self-isolation, and known what it is to be the subject of fear to find this place in his arms, in his mind, in his heart. Peace. Love. Family. _Home._

NOTE: This is the SECOND draft. The first was MUCH better - the best thing I have ever written, actually; and I lost it. Completely.


	21. Soft

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #21 (violence; pillage/plunder; extortion): Soft

She used to say that if they lost her it would be to grief, betrayal, or the drive for vengence; but in the end, they lost her to none of these. Grief was an addendum to care. Betrayal implied a large amount of trust. Vengence was the flowing blood of a wounded soul. All of which she could not claim.

_Rob, she's GONE, man! She's GONE! _

We can't just let her go! We have to help -- bring her back!

Look at her! Her skin is RED!

Let me go! I have to get to her! I can talk her down, please! **PLEASE!**

. . . . please . . . .

It had been a surprise attack. A military base had been destroyed in a matter of minutes, fire, and smoke. She had been the first on the scene, hood up and cape flying - majestic as always, illuminated by the swirling flames. He had recalled then, as he did now, that she hated fire. It was the power her father had gifted Slade. It was the instrument of destruction proposed to be hers, burning behind her eyes and singeing her nightmares. It was the element of torture that the demon took the greatest pleasure in.

That night . . . That terrific, hateful night Starfire had fallen as he rushed, calling the Tamaran's name - reckless, rash, and unceasingly brave. Slade seemed invincible, a veritable god of violence bent on the supernatural family feud that had become an uncontrollable war of the worlds. Beastboy had been flying, pterodactyl wings spread large and leathery, overhead before a fireball tore through the space between bones, grounding the changeling and making him prey for more attacks. Cyborg immediately ran to the youngest of their little group, but by the time he and the robotic man realized they were being corralled into that small area, it was too late.

And Raven was the only one to escape the cage of molten lava fashioned just for them.

_LET THEM GO! _

Now, now little Raven, you should know by now that our interest is not with them.

What do you want?

My master wants you, little Raven. Nothing more, nothing less.

Will . . . If I give in, if I do as he wants, will he spare them?

Of course, of course he will.

. . . . but you won't . . . .

The transformation had been instantaneous, vulgar and ugly. She had reached out to them, unrecognizable and tear stained with clawed hands, crimson skin, and ebony hair. And somehow, even as he railed against the truth, he knew they had lost her forever.

_We can . . . We have to save her. We have to. _

Ro -- Richard, there's nothing left to save. She was dead the second she sealed the deal.

That can't be, Cy . . . It just can't.

Let it go, man. It's the end of the world as we know it. We have to figure out how we'll survive. We don't have the resources to save anyone but ourselves.

H . . . How did it come to this? Why did she do it?

Maybe . . . Maybe she cared too much.

. . . . and maybe we were all blind . . . .

She had mutinied against the pillage and plunder of her mind once she realized her father and Slade had no intention of upholding their end of the bargain. Their shredding extortion of her unknown soul was painful to hear, to see, to feel. It was a tornado of light, color, and darkness burning through the night in waves and crashes, disrupting their little cage and catching them in the crossfire. Her power, unleashed as it was, crushed Beastboy. The sound of the green boy's bones crumbling to dust would stay with him for the rest of his life. It was Trigon himself who killed Starfire. She had been maimed by Slade's previous blow. She was dismembered by Trigon's wrath.

Raven's last force of will caused the cage to collapse, allowing the remaining Titans to scramble to 'safety' when - in fact - no safe place existed anymore. They eventually found themselves underground and alone with no food, water or hope. Gotham fell within hours of Jump. Metropolis closely followed, and so it went across the nation, the globe.

And she never returned. Not in the first year. Not in the second. Not now. They were the last. The Justice League had perished through various assassinations despite efforts to hid, recoup, and plan. She would be after them next; and as they huddled around their small cooking fire, he allowed the mask to curl in upon itself - the last disposable article they had retained as a fuel source.

"When do you think she'll get here?" He doesn't talk much anymore, and his voice was hoarse, cold. His words had been locked away as soon as he had admitted that though her body still walked the Earth, her heart, mind and spirit had long since been murdered; and he couldn't shake the feeling that he should shoulder the blame. If he died by her hand, it would be poetic justice. He only hoped he would see her in the afterlife . . . if there was anything left to see.

"Don't know. I'm almost looking forward to it." A red, cybernetic eye gleamed and glowed amidst the floating embers.

He nods. No replies are needed. Hell on Earth is no place to live, and he has been a dead man walking for too long.

Cy -- Victor stares at him for long moments over the dying flames. "You should burn it."

"Too many things have gone up in smoke, Cy. I'm not gonna sacrifice my last words because you think it's liberating."

When it was all new - the loss and loneliness, the bereavement and annihilaton - he had found a notebook in a trash can while scrounging for food. The pages were filled on one side only, and he had been quick to claim the clear space for himself. Letters were written to each of his lost friends each day only to burn them in the night, hoping (he would not allow himself to entertain the thought of _praying_) that the words would somehow reach them, wherever they were. Upon reaching the last page, he had decided to save the preserved scrap of processed wood bark for his last will and testament - a sort of cynical 'Fuck you' to the universe at large.

Instead, he wrote to her.

_Dear Raven, _

Who knew it would end like this? I thought I could save the world, but I didn't know I would be one of the reasons it would be destroyed.

You should have known better than to think they would keep their word. Does trust come so cheaply to you? Or were you just desperate? It goes round and round in my head, but there's never a good answer. I just can't believe you could be so stupid. You spent your whole life running from that bastard only to run **to** him when it really mattered; and instead of blaming you, instead of hating every last atom of your being for taking everything away, I blame and hate myself.

I once promised you that you were safe, that it would be ok. Even after all the secrets were pulled out of you, even after you admitted you had screwed us over by keeping it all hush-hush, I promised to protect you - my friend, my teammate, my . . . . And I failed. I was too cocky, too confident. I believed that knowledge was power, but you could not fathom the reach of your father's abilities just as we didn't know the extent of yours until it was too late.

I wonder if you realize what you've taken. Beastboy . . . Starfire . . . you, Cyborg's laughter, my voice. I wonder if you're looking down upon us or if you're burning in Hell, a fitting punishment for someone who hated fire so much. I wonder if I believe in anything anymore.

I remember your birthday . . . the day after when we threw that party and you said no one could have stopped the 'bad thing' that occurred despite your wish to avoid it. I remember Beastboy urging you to make a wish over your candles. I remember asking what you wished for.

You never answered me, not with words. Our bond would give me impressions sometimes, but it was so subtle, I thought the images and feelings originated in me. You were always searching, weren't you? Sometimes, the pictures would seem muted and dark, as if I were looking through a blindfold. There was always that want of stability, like you were teetering towards the edge with each breath, always waiting for the second shoe to fall or the bottom to drop out. And a need for warmth, someone or something to hold you and tell you it would be okay . . . or maybe a foundation to rest upon when you were weary and couldn't support the strain anymore upon your rigid shoulders. Yours was an inflexible attitude, and perhaps that was your downfall. You always landed hard on your feet, but your knees were locked and so only multiplied the pain or cracked the bone just a little more, just a little deeper.

And no one could save you, because you never let anyone know that you needed or wanted to be saved. By the time you did let us in, it was too late and you were already gone.

Yet, I still can't let go of your ghost, so I offer this last promise. One more empty, hope-filled vow before the harbinger comes for Cyborg and me:

I will light your way in the dark.

I will make you still when the ground tries to throw you.

I will embrace you when it becomes too much to handle.

In me, you will always have a soft place to land.

Wait for me.


	22. Love

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #22 (cradle): Love

**Note:** This is meant to follow theme #10: Baby.

The only clue they had been given was a large, understored 10 written on a single sheet of folded paper, and it had been two weeks since they figured out what it all meant.

Robin watched Raven closely as she held the baby cradled gingerly in her arms, the hold natural and secure. She, of all the Titans, had become the most attached to the infant boy.

His name was Edward Dieci who's young mother worked as an on-location nurse at the Jump City Orphanage which just happened to stand at the corner of 10th and Rapini Streets. Apparently, the woman often brought her newborn to work with her since her husband was in the military an stationed across the globe. When she noticed that administration was giving her baby strange looks and perspective adopting couples were asking questions about her baby's health history, she began to investigate growing suspicions. Discovering that the orphanage staff was involved in an underground baby adoption ring, she sought safety for her baby who - much to her alarm - was slated for pick-up within the next few days, leaving the child with the city's resident heroes while she tried to get the authorities to do something.

Five months later, the Titans were contacted by the police commissioner explaining the situation and provided with the necessary evidence. (There were not about to give the baby over to someone who might not be a parent).

It had been Starfire who broke the "joyful" news to Raven, and it had been Beast Boy to give the first "whoop" of glee to finally be rid of the relatively new addition. The baby seemed to quiet only with Raven who had tried to explain that the key to comforting in the seemingly bad tempered child was melodic sounds such as a heartbeat or hummed song, warmth and cuddles. The baby wanted to feel loved and secure. Griping at him would do nothing but provoke more crying. However, as Raven was the only soul in Titan's Tower to silence the baby long enough for the others to get some much needed rest, she was the one relegated to being the boy's primary caretaker.

Robin had been surprised when the Dark Witch took to her new position with something akin to relish. She set up a makeshift basinet in her room, went shopping for baby supplies, walked around with a baby sling across her chest, and made sure the pantry was stalked with baby formula. It wasn't that her character had changed but that there was a new dimension to it. The Boy Wonder would catch her simply staring at the infant while he was asleep with an almost . . . yearning expression. He would wake in the night to find her holding the child and singing to him softly or feeding him with his pudgy cheek against a bare breast.

She was almost . . . motherly, but not quite. There was still a distance there, discernable by a willingness to let him sleep through feeding times and the subtle lack of protectiveness and terms of endearment. More a caring older sister who was trying her best but falling short, Robin decided. Yet, her behavior in and of itself intrigued him, which was why he observed her so intensely as they approached the baby's mother.

Slowly, the baby transferred from Raven to the crying, thankful young woman before them, and Edward was the recipient of a thousand butterfly kisses. Rebecca Dieci was petite and overly thin with too many worry lines and frizzy hair. There was an air of affection that seemed to surround her, a selflessness that seemed to permeate her every move and expression. She met each of their gazes directly, thanking them solemnly before turning to face Raven and embracing the dark-clad girl with a bone-crushing hug, the baby sandwiched between them.

Raven merely smiled her tiny half-smile as the other woman pulled away, replying that, "We were both fortunate." She then made a strange gesture, placing her hand upon little Edward's brow and trailing her palm against his face before resting her fingertips upon his lips and speaking a word Robin did not understand.

Hours later, Robin approached Raven's room to help her dismantle the basinet (really an excuse for an opportunity to ask her if she was handling the baby's absense well). He knocked, and she let him in without a word - another surprise.

"I'm fine, Robin," she spoke clearly, unexpectedly, breaking the silence.

He shot her a sheepish grin. "Am I that obvious?"

"No. I was expecting you would want to know."

"Ah."

They got to work on the basinet, not speaking for long moments as Robin fished for ways to open a conversation and Raven inwardly smirked in amusement at Robin's expense.

"You want to know what I said back there."

Startled, the boy paused then answered in the affirmative.

"It's an old Azarathian blessing, rarely given. In the Azarath I grew up in there was no need for wishes of a peaceful future. Considering his life began with much conflict, I wanted to ensure Edward would have a better life to come." She watched her companion carefully. "You also want to know what I meant when I said, 'We were both fortunate,' to Mrs. Dieci."

"Are you a mind reader now?" There was irritation in his voice, but she knew it was a facade.

"No. I can feel your confusion."

He looked away momentarily. "If it's too personal --"

"No. I meant that Edward and I were fortunate because we were both taken from our mothers by circumstances beyond our control but ended up with people capable of caring for us in the end. I had Azar, and he had me." She busied herself with a particularly stubborn screw as she felt Robin's stare burn into her.

Suddenly, there was a glove-clad hand on her wrist, and she set down the screwdriver slowly as he spoke, "You loved him."

"I can't love," she answered honestly. "He reminded me of something I did not realize I missed."

"What?"

"When I was little, Azar often left me to care for the babies at the Temple nursery. She thought it would be good practice in learning to control my empathy. Babies are very . . . loud in crying and in projecting their feelings."

"If it was painful, you should have told us! We would have hel--" He was silenced by the hand she held up.

"It wasn't painful. When I looked after those infants at Temple, I was bombarded so . . . instead of trying to deal with it, I would block them. It took a fairly long time to realize that blocking solved nothing when it came to beings with no self-control at all. I had to learn to comfort them, and . . . eventually I was rewarded with something far greater than a stronger hold on my talents."

She shared a long glance with Robin before continuing, "I can't feel my own emotions, but I can feel others'. The most raw feelings I've ever felt have come from infants. Theirs are emotions in their purest forms, and they give their feelings freely, without hesitation. If they're angry, everyone will know they're angry. If they're happy, you'll hear their laughter clearly in a crowded room. If they're sad, there is nothing anyone can do to quiet their wailing."

Robin gave a low whistle, comprehending. "He loved you."

Raven's mouth twitched as she nodded. "Yes. And . . . in a way, it reminded me of Azar's love. Pure, like a bolt of lightning or a warm blanket wrapped around me. Beautiful. He made me feel worthy."

The hand on her wrist tightened. "Raven . . . "

"I just hope he could feel something besides indifference from me."

Memories . . . _a yearning look, a soft lullaby in the dark, cradled against her heart, held close against her skin . . . _Robin's hand fell away as he tried a smile for her. "I know he did."

Gray lips curved into a grateful smile as silence fell again as they began to dismantle the baby's bed once again.


	23. Hearts

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #23 (candy): Hearts

Raven Roth did not do romance. This was due - in no small part - to the fact that she had, until recently, neither reason nor inclination to indulge. That she was not yet accustomed to expressing her emotions was a moot point. However, as today was somewhat of a hallmark in history, she was more than willing to give it a try.

_He had better appreciate this._

The mental grumbling was a symptom of her efforts (and subsequent disposal of all extraneous evidence) which had resulted in several stomach aches, a slight case of marathon gagging, and a generally rotten disposition. But that wasn't important, she decided. Her suffering would not be in vain; and if she played her cards right, he might even reimburse her for her pains.

After all, he probably thought she had forgotten. Or maybe, he believed she would not assign today any measure of importance. Come to think of it, she didn't even know if _he_ would want to celebrate.

_Well, too bad._ Her hands were already dirty. She was sweaty and tired, and - damn it - she had almost finished cooking his favorite dish (which was so complicated, nuanced, and ridiculously time consuming, she had considered tracking down the author of such a convoluted, unnecessarily difficult chapter of culinary artistry to shove his or her face in it). _Leave it to Robin to love such a pretentiously fancy recipe._

Swirling a large wooden spoon through the bubbling, thickening white concoction that was the sauce, she used her free hand to snap the oven knob to the 'off' position. The meticulously seasoned, laboriously marinated baked chicken (cooked in a liberally spread bed of orange wedges, lemon slices, and pinapple chunks) would just have to stand for a few moments in the caged heat of the oven while the sauce simmered and she fetched Robin.

_Thank goodness for small miracles_, Raven thought of her absent teammates as she spoke into the intercom system, "Robin, please come to the kitchen. Dinner's here."

Her plans for the night had required a small white lie that Chinese take-out would be the meal for the evening. Unfortunately, those same plans required that she not share in his company at table. Untying the simple, yellow apron (sporting red kiss-lips across the chest), the Dark Witch of Titans Tower set the anniversary table with tall candles, a simple arrangement of Forget-Me-Nots (1), a proper place setting (complete with actual silverware - a rarity in the Tower), a little note with preconceived instructions, and - most importantly- a small dish with a tiny pink candy heart sporting a message: "Love you."

_-30kisses-_

The next day began with Starfire's Pudding of Happiness, Beastboy's whining, nearly tripping over some stray part of Cyborg's newest project, and a series of Robin's most irritating smirks.

_At least he cleaned up in the kitchen._ Waking up at the ungodly hour of 3 A.M., Raven had stumbled into the kitchen to do a little damage control. It wasn't that their relationship was a secret, it was that she knew Robin would rather cut off a limb than clean dishes. Yet, she had been pleasantly surprised to find the room spotless. Even the oven had been cleaned! How was it that something so simple could threaten to send her into convulsions?

Still, he had yet to whisper a 'thank you,' tell her if he had enjoyed the fruit of her labors, or even kiss her for the day. As if her good humor hadn't been ruined already after discovering that her literature-of-the-week had taken a flying leap into the bay thanks to one of Beastboy's pranks. The only reason why her green friend was still alive to apologize was her distracting anxiety to know if her cooking had been up to par with Alfred's.

_Or close to it . . . Decent would be good. Edible, acceptable. Something to tell me he's appreciative._

After a year, it was still so new, this closeness and, strangely, . . . distance. There were things she no longer felt comfortable telling him, though he seemed to be more open. Very strange but in a good way, because even if she didn't feel comfortable, there was an understanding that when she **did** become comfortable he would be a willing and secure vessel for her every whimsy. In a way, it was just a continuation of their prior friendship. She had never really comprehended where she stood with him while he had always held a very stable - if dynamic - place in her life.

When they had first come together as something more than mere friends or teammates, it was due to a mutually acknowledged physical and mental attraction. There had been no talk of emotional ties. She had not been ready to commit herself to any sort of vocalized feeling, and he had still been trying to sort his affection for Starfire into a safe little box. As a result, their 'relationship' was subtle, soft, and slow. Their first kiss had come six months to the day of their founding commisseration; and they had never spoken the 'L' word.

In other words, she had taken a great leap of faith when she had placed that particular candy heart upon the dish. He, then, held _her_ heart in his hands to accept . . . or crush.

She sighed. Maybe he had misinterpreted the dinner. There had been nothing in her plans that screamed or spelled out 'Happy Anniversary'; but . . . Robin was an intelligent guy. He should have figured it out, and . . . _Why does he keep **smirking** at me?_

Feeling raw and confused by her own screwed up emotions and the waves of affection tinged amusement he was sending her way, she wilted under his _arrogant_ stare before shooting up to her feet and stomping off to her room.

As she approached her door, she knew something was off. There were three orchids (2) wrapped gingerly in yellow tissue lying across her threshold. Picking up the blossoms, she entered her private domain, eyes surveying the clean, seemingly undisturbed room. Again a sigh fell from her lips, but the irritation she had felt upon taking her leave of the living room seemed to flow out of her with each inhale of the orchid's light scent. She laid the flowers upon her bed before sitting at her desk and absently studying the glowing bits of dust falling through the air; but her quiet was soon destroyed with a chance shift of an elbow coming into contact with an alien item.

_A . . . box?_ Delicate, pale hands caressed the sides of the ivory and gold masterpiece before opening it. A tinkling rendition of Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ immediately began to play, but it was the bit of confection centered upon the plush velvet inlay that turned her frown upside down. The candy heart held the letters that spelled, "For You."

-_30kisses-_

That night, Raven couldn't seem to tear her eyes from Robin's anniversary gift to her. It was so _normal_. For a group of superheroes living in a huge 'T'; for a half-demon girl whose entire life up until recently seemed destined for complete destruction and lonely suffering without expression; for a human boy trying to outrun his mortality and damaged beyond the exterior; celebrating an anniversary and exchanging gifts to show without telling . . . She was more grateful for _that_ gift. But more than that, she wanted . . . something from him.

An answer . . . _A reciprocation._

She was out the door and into the hall before she could consciously register the whisper of silk against her clenched fingers or the fragrant strands of incense connecting with her olfactory senses. This was not ritual but it was not unusual. They often exchanged tokens, little surprises that would be meaningless to most but held some special significance between them.

The scarf she left tied to his bed post was scented with his favorite incense and echoed the color of her eyes. However, where on any other occasion she would have simply left the bit of material, she placed a candy heart upon his pillow. This one left her even more vulnerable than the last, painted in red with the plaintive, "Love me."

_-30kisses-_

His response, when it came as it did once the night had passed into day, was in the form of more smirks, a few winks, and the most passionate kisses. The groping was pretty nice too, but she would never tell _him_ that.

Considering he had given every sign that he did - in fact - feel something more than simple physical attraction for her, she found herself seeking his company. They sat next to each other at breakfast; she was in his lap reading while lounging in the main room; he held her unnecessarily while teaching her a new hand-to-hand move; and their hands seemed fused together when they decided to _walk_ to the pizza parlor for the night's dinner. The distance she had not wanted to admit being concerned about had begun to close.

They had decided to venture out in street clothes - a rare thing these days, and as they walked, slowly, back to Titans Tower, Raven's hand dipped into her jean pocket to find her key card only to come up with the chalky hardness of a tiny heart with the message, "I do." Her head swiveled to find Robin gazing seriously at her - for once without the mask - before their lips met in probably the most meaningful, romantic kiss they had ever shared. And later, before they retired to their rooms to sleep, Robin came to her with yet another surprise.

"A little bird - named Alfred - told me that _Wicked_ is being performed in Gotham next week. I managed to get the last two tickets. So, if you're not doing anything --"

She didn't let him finish the inquiry, and if the satisfied purring and low moans as their tongues danced were any indication, he didn't mind in the least.

_-30kisses-_

The days couldn't pass quickly enough, and Raven - through crime fighting, dealing with her friends, and finding time with her . . . boyfriend sounded so juvenile - found that anxiety with purpose was not necessarily an unpleasant feeling. To relieve the pressure within, she spent much of her time meditating but more of it cleaning. The blue, fuzzy mold had been evicted from the refrigerator; the pantry had been cleared of all food products with an expiration date; and even Beastboy's bedroom was no longer a toxic waste dump.

When the day finally arrived, she was fairly glowing with anticipation - not because she was going to see a play her interest had been piqued in but because she would be _alone_ with him for more than a few hours. It was hard finding an extended period of privacy among such a diverse group, especially when you were one of two girls within that group and the other girl always wanted to partake in bonding rituals.

In an exemplary show of true expression, Raven exhibited no hesitation as she straddled the R-cycle (a vehicle she had always been cynically disinclined to use in the past) behind Robin, her arms locked around his middle out of a need to feel secure as well as the wonderful friction the hold produced between her chest and his back.

_This must be what hormones feel like. Chemical lust._

The drive was uneventful, and when they reached Wayne Manor - they're lodging place for the two nights they would be spending in Gotham City - Alfred and Bruce were nothing but gracious. Bruce and Raven were not strangers to each other as he had met her before anyone else on Earth, but the multi-billionaire turned Dark Knight had never seen his ward and the Azarathian girl interact together. As they were now . . . together, he was even more intrigued to observe such different personalities interact on an intimate level. However, he quite deliberately set them up in separate bedrooms, with several chambers between them.

But that was fine with Raven. She was no strategical genius, nor was she a specialist when it came to covert tactics; however, since she was finally free to listen to her heart, she was not letting one single opportunity slip through her fingers. Her presence here was not only geared toward a night at the theatre. There was also an ulterior motive, one that was to become quite clear once Robin retired for the night in his room to find yet another candy heart - this one green - asking him to "Be Mine" with the added handwritten addendum, "Tonight?"

_-30kisses-_

The proposition had not taken as much strength or soul-searching as the first admission of love had. Once the feeling had been identified, she had known instinctively how much she wanted to give of herself.

_Everything._

Because she had kept to herself for so long. Because she trusted him with all that she was and everything she would ever be. Because he knew just how precious a gift her love, her soul, and her body were when given so freely, willingly.

He was at her door before the stroke of midnight, shirtless and beautiful, clad only in a pair of old boxers; and it made all the difference in the world that he replied to her sweet inquiry with an even sweeter answer. Caught between his teeth, there was a purple conversation heart decorated with the words, "I will"; and when he kissed her, pushing the little bit of sugar into her mouth, he pushed away only long enough to add an addendum of his own - tick for tack, "Always."

She smiled then and lifted her arms like a child begging to be held. The door closed behind him softly, the discordant music of love in motion began, and the night passed without sleep.

**_Notes:_**

(1) Meaning: Faithful love; Undying hope; Memories; Do not forget; True Love  
(2) Meaning: Love; Beauty; Refinement; Beautiful Lady; Flower of magnificence


	24. Confession

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #24 (good night): Confession

**_WARNING_:** If you have not had a sex education course, do not read this ficlet. There is nothing **GRAPHIC**. There is no **NUDITY**. But there is **SEXUAL INNUENDO** and other content of a more **MATURE** nature.

When Raven decided to turn in early, it was because of one of two things. Robin (aka Nightwing aka Richard Greyson) was betting on the second option rather than the first as he pulled the thick comforter over both their bodies. Gently, slowly he turned into her, belting her waist and tangling their legs together, his hips cradling her rear.

She was awake, he surmised by the shallow, irregular pattern of her breathing and the derisive snort she let out before reaching back to smack his thigh playfully.

"Richard, that had better be your bo staff because I am not in the mood." Her grousing broke through the still darkness, and he couldn't help but smirk into her hair.

_Called it_. "Now, _dear_, I know how you feel about weapons in the bedroom." There was a well-deserved chuckle writhing at the base of his throat as he imagined the roll of her eyes. _Let the game begin._

There were variations but they had been through this conversation at least four times during the course of their ten year marriage, and it never ceased to amuse Raven's husband at her resistance to his . . . prying – at least where this was concerned. That she had never succeeded in resisting him was just icing on the cake.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I _hate_ pet names?" She smacked at his thigh again, a little harder this time.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I _like_ pet names?" He kissed the side of her neck, lingering there to feel her shiver under him.

Huffing out a long, exasperated breath, Raven turned her head slightly to grant him a side-long glance. "You're not going to let me sleep, are you?"

If he had been any other husband, he would have folded right there, but Robin knew better. "You're tired not sleepy. I'm letting you rest."

If she had been any other wife, she would have screamed into her pillow at that moment, but Raven had more self-control than that. "Thank you for letting me rest. Now, if you would like to sleep in this bed with me for the next week and not the couch, I advise you to shut up."

His lips found her ear and promptly latched onto the lobe, and she gasped softly though her body remained rigid against his. "Why aren't you in the mood?"

She hummed appreciatively when his tongue found her pulse point, her voice becoming faint and halting. "What happened to questions like, 'How was your day' or a simple, 'Good night.'"

Thrusting his hips more firmly into her backside, Robin couldn't help an inward crow of self-congratulation. _Got ya_. "Ok, _honeysuckle_, how was your day?"

"Remind me why I didn't let Slade or Trigon kill you while I had the chance?"

"You couldn't stand to even imagine a world without my devastating good looks."

"Right." She sighed and arched her back as his hand reached between her legs. "Are you saying I'm shallow?"

God, he needed to kiss her, but first – "Not at all. You have good taste in genes." When his mouth finally closed over hers, she let out a small cry that he felt to his toes. Still, this seduction had begun with one purpose and one purpose only. Still – as with the previous discussions mentioned, Robin found himself forgetting that purpose in favor of a more immediate one.

"I love you," Raven breathed when they parted, "but you are not going to win this one."

The hell he wasn't. "I already know." The hand not currently occupied below her waist caressed a plump breast.

As she tipped her chin up, her crown pushing against his shoulder, Robin knew his wife was on the cusp of surrender. "Know what, . . . exactly?"

He loved it when she was like this, all panting and open with heated skin and just beginning to break a sweat, ready to fall apart and welcoming it. It was a rare thing these days, and the Teen Titan turned solo superhero silently prayed that there would be no tiny knocks upon their door tonight.

They had some private _celebrating_ to do.

Past strategy dictated his knee between both of hers and the hand fondling her chest to dip into her nightshirt. "I know that you've been feeling run down lately. Misbehaving?"

Several moments passed in silence marred by the panting of two riled adults before Raven's flat reply of, "Not going to happen, Richard."

But he was up to the challenge. She thought she wouldn't crack this time. He knew from past experience that she would. All that was needed was a little force.

Fisting fingers around the waistband of her panties, Robin gently pulled the material up and out, letting it rub against –

"Oh!"

His chuckle, when it was finally released, was low, feral, and accompanied by teeth scraping against the sensitive place where her neck and shoulder met. "Are you in the mood now, _darling_?"

It was a point of pride that he not admit – even to himself – that he certainly HOPED she was. Rather, he could acknowledge that he thoroughly enjoyed these sensual games they played when the occasion called for it. At their wedding, he had vowed that he would never let her slip into an unemotional void again. Afterwards, he quickly realized that the most efficient way to get Raven to express her emotions was physical stimulation.

Being the intelligent man he was, Robin had deduced that this was so due to control issues. Raven was arguably the commander-in-chief of their household (the corny side of him said that she was also the commander-in-chief of his heart). In the bedroom, however, Richard was lord and master. Raven had rarely ever taken the initiative, and Robin had never felt the need to beg her to take control. It was enough to know he could give her this gift of release; for though sex between them had always been mutually explosive, Robin had since found that _his_ gratification was entirely wrapped up and complete in _hers_. Coitus was unnecessary, particularly since he knew she wasn't feeling up to it.  
Now, if he could just get her to confess . . .

Utterly certain that Raven was only moments away from bending under the onslaught, he began to rotate his pelvis, coaxing the same movement pattern from her. Dimly, preoccupied with the alluring slope of one bared shoulder, he registered her whimpering.

"Robin . . . mmmmm . . . "

"Tell me, _baby_. I want to hear you say it."

His fingers stroked in and around at the apex of her thighs, and suddenly she was leaning forward and away from him, her small hands grasping at the sheets.

"Please --"

"I'll stop if you don't tell me. Give it up, _love_."

Her eyes screwed shut and her bottom lip was caught between worrying teeth. He pursued her, not minding the mass of sweat built up between them, and used his free hand to turn her face to his as he brought their mouths together.

The kiss was long, deep, and sloppy (just the way he liked it), and as the parting of their lips caused a light 'pop' to disturb the sounds of their labored breathing and the rustling of bedsheets, she hotly whispered the words he had waited to hear all day.

"I'm pregnant . . . again." Then she let out a high-pitched keening wail of release, and he clasped himself around her protectively until the tremors ebbed and their hearts calmed.

When all was still again, she turned to cuddle close to him - front to front instead of back to front as they had been, and her hands came up to cradle his face.

"How is it that everytime we talk about having another child, I get pregnant within a month of the conversation regardless of what we decide?"

The grin he flashed could be described as evil. "I always did have impeccable timing."

Raven's eyes narrowed dangerously as she spit out the warning, "This is the last."

Robin's hand moved hers so that he could kiss her palm. "Six is a good number."

She almost countered with, "Can I have that in writing?" Instead, a tired sigh escaped her as the distinct yelling of their fourth child - Joy - reached them through the walls of their home.

It was Robin who reacted. "Nightmare. I'll see to her. You need to sleep." As he made to exit their bed, Raven couldn't help the urge to reach up and kiss him again. This one was gentle, loving.

"Good night, _sweetheart_." Raven smiled sweetly at her husband as he made his way, satisfied, to the door. There was no need for wishes, it was already a good night.


	25. Inclosure

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #25 (fence ): Inclosure

The truth hurts, and the truth was . . . they had never been friends.

It was all an accident. She had come to Earth due to a desperate need for a redemption she could not truly desire; and he had agreed to form this impossible group of kids playing dress-up because he had had something to prove.

Another truth that burned into his soul: He had failed.

There was Slade and his powder then Trigon and his resurrection. There was a reluctant merging of minds and her seeming destruction with the passage of her father into their dimension. But . . . but . . .

It had not been such a reluctant merging, and she had not been destroyed. Her haste to come to his rescue had always been a point of confusion for him just as his need to rescue her twisted his insides deep into night where the nerves shocked into nightmares.

Still, the mutual regard for each other's safety wasn't the issue that shattered the illusion of their supposed friendship. It was the fact that he had willingly allowed her to see everything that he was, trusted her with all the secrets he still kept from the others. It was the truth of her own willingness to forget everything she had ever experienced, everything she had ever been and would be once all the shields were down and all that remained was a vulnerable little girl trying to find refuge.

And she had run from him. For once she wasn't hiding behind the mask of her non-expression. For once her fear and confusion were evident in her eyes, the new lilting tones of her voice, the quivering mouth and she could not trust him, could not recognize him.

He had waited, patiently, since meeting her, growing accustomed to her strange ways and the tortured history that seemed just beneath the surface but would never be learned; and finally, finally the stony inclosure that had always kept everything out and everything in had been destroyed. However, the demolition had taken something precious from her as well as him -- her memories.

It was selfish, he knew, that he would rather her remember all the pain she must have kept close throughout her life just so she could fulfill his desire to be recognized. Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was even more callous and self-serving. He wanted her to suffer because he did.

Because the truth hurts and the kiss of disappointment left him with this singular fact: They had never been friends; and they could never be more.


	26. Obscure

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #26 (if only I could make you mine): Obscure

She wakes with back arched, a gasp lodging in her throat, and the ghost of his grin fading behind her eyes.

The room is dark, the light of a single beeswax candle illuminating nothing save the curve of a withered cheek and the silver and gold strands of a bowed head.

"Azar?" Her voice is high and young, the heart in her chest fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird. Her breath is deep and uneven as the realization comes that she is only twelve or thirteen where only moments ago she had been a woman celebrating her wedding night.

There is a foul odor in the air tempered by the faint scent of honeysuckle before gentle hands find her own too-small ones, before the rustle and undulation of a soft body settling next to her on the wide hammock.

"What did you see, Little Bird?" The voice is deep and raspy with weariness, but it is beautiful to her ears. She has not heard this voice for many years. She has not seen these eyes or felt these hands for too long. Tears prickle and are born down her cheeks and across her lips. Her tongue tastes the salty moisture and revels in it.

"You died . . . and I left." It is a whisper in the seeming darkness, and she paints the scene in her head a brighter pallette. In a matter of days - in a matter of hours . . .

Her caretaker falters and sighs, raising callused hands to trace delicate features and brush away tears that should not be.

"And did you find what you seek?" Memory returns with the inquiry - the trial and the result. In the course of one night she has lived into her future, and only seconds after waking, she begins to forget . . .

Brows drawn and tears coming more frequent, she bends to rest her forehead against the High Priestess's shoulder. "I do not know. There was a boy . . . I think."

_No_, she thinks in an older, calmer voice, _not a boy, a Man full of Wonder_. Red and green and yellow - vibrant and aggressive against a backdrop of pure pitch - swirls and plays across her closed eyelids as she tries to remember and tastes kisses on her tongue.

"Did he give you hope, Raven? Does he protect you from yourself?"

She cannot answer as the knowledge comes that the memory of his eyes are gone, that she cannot recall names and places once familiar and held close to her heart. "He is gone, and so am I. It is of no consequence."

There is a cold space within her chest where _they_ once were, and each breath erases one more experience of her dream life. "How long have I –"

"Four days."

One day for every year she was caught up in the beautiful dream of self-discovery, friendship, love, and triumph.

"I remember my father." She speaks low as not to invoke his active presence. In her mind, it has been one year since she was freed from his influence and imminent danger. "We defeated him."

Azar simply nods and pulls her small body closer, running bony fingers through the now-long violet hair. "You miss _them_. Not just the boy."

"He was my husband. They were my friends."

The old woman simply rocks and holds and hums soothingly as she bites down upon the inside flesh of one cheek to stem the flow of tears and coax away the sob pressing at her palate. _They were mine._

"They were mine." And she clutches at the woman who has cared for her since birth as reality settles its weight upon her shoulders in the form of an obscure verb in past tense - _were_.


	27. Veil

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #27 (overflow): Veil

It hangs between them, a limp veil of sheer white traced in pristine ribbon; and she hates it for the pain it causes the woman who holds it.

"This isn't a chance you throw away." Grave, solemn, and soft-spoken as always, she stares into the peridot green eyes of this dear friend whose eternal smile is lost to the sacrifice between them.

"This is not an offer you should refuse." Red hair falls into the other woman's starkly beautiful face, the lush, painted lips unfamiliar in their pursed line.

Raven shakes her head to dispel the words swirling about her head, to disrupt the course of this unexpected event. "Robin wouldn't want this. He's yours, Starfire. We've known that since –"

The Tameranian Princess cum Earth bride smiles sadly, her eyes drifting to glance at the wall, gaze distant and glazed, "Robin does not exist as we knew him." Indeed, her heart thumps with the vocalized acknowledgement. Robin was Starfire's boy, but Nightwing is Raven's man. It is in the clothes he wears to scream his soul – where once he wore Star's colors, bright and bold, he now dons a sheath of overflowing night and shadow to match Raven's staid darkness.

Frowning, fighting tears, the Dark Witch of Titan's Tower falters before her long-time friend. "I can't do this to you."

But Star has made her decision for Nightwing is not the only one who understands that when Raven looks upon her reflection, she sees the shell of insanity Starfire experienced in Warp's future. "I wish this for you, Friend Raven, because you cannot."

Stepping close, the veil is raised and set upon Raven's coif and pulled over her pinched face, red streaks lining her eyes and cheeks where the tears flow down freely. She croaks and hands tremble as fresh flowers are pressed between palms. Her heart is pained with guilty pleasure as Star comes forward to embrace and kiss and whisper a reassurance though it is Raven who should be reassuring. Instead, she breaks the heartsick silence, "He won't like this. They won't like this."

"He will be happy." It is the prediction Starfire has based today's actions upon, this split second decision to swallow her own dream to give her friends this gift. "They will learn to understand."

Raven swallows audibly, the sound seeming to echo in the still silence of the dressing room. "Starfire?" She is wide-eyed and visibly afraid, her eyes open and unguarded.

"He loves you, Raven."

"But he loves you as well."

"And that is why I will not watch." It hurts, the flinch that conquers Raven's usually immovable expression; but Starfire needs to be honest. Time is running out, and Raven must make her decision.

Suddenly, Raven raises up and engulfs the taller woman in arms that seem unbearably small and young. "I love you."

In return, Starfire smiles sadly against a cool, ashen neck, "Be happy, Friend," before stepping away and disappearing from the room, from the church.

Moments later, Raven walks the path Starfire was expected to tread towards the man who became so much to both but represented the future to only one; and as his surprised expression melts into an easy, familiar grin, his hands lift the veil and Raven finds herself smiling freely for the first time, savoring the words she repeats for their friends and family and him, "I, Raven Roth, do take this man to be my lawfully wedded husband . . . "


	28. Word

**_30Kisses Theme Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #28 (Wada Calcium CD3): Word

Robin is not the master of crosswords but that doesn't stop him from butting into her space and hobby for the fifth time in as many days. It happens when she is bent and puzzled over the four letter boxes of 10 Across - 'associated with calcium.'"

"Wada." He says without inflection or pause. She hadn't even noticed she had muttered the clue aloud.

A long suffering look clouds her features, but she asks the question anyway, "What?"

"Wada; W-A-D-A, as in Michihito Wada."

Staring at him is easier than giving in to the temptation of executing a strategic barb or a question born of honest curiosity, so she watches him with an inscrutable expression before turning back to her crossword. From anyone else it would simply be a lack of extended interest. From _her_ it is a succinct dismissal.

Robin always did have a problem following orders, especially silent ones.

It is not long before she has forgotten his presence, and unconsciously, her lips shape the next clue as her pencil hovers over a line of three blank squares denoted by the number 20.

"Asp." His voice catches her off-guard and the potted plant in the corner explodes in a cloud of soil, leaf fragments, and clay pieces.

Her glare, when it reaches him across the room, promises death and pain – not necessarily in that order. "Stop doing that."

The _grin_ is at its cheeky best, and she suddenly knows he has planned this entire encounter down to the very crossword puzzle she had found facing up so innocently upon the sofa. "Stop watching you or stop answering?"

"Stop _playing_ with me." She doesn't know what's gotten into him, but this strangely hyper-attentive Robin is far beyond her range of experience; and it makes her nervous.

The _grin_ softens, and her body uncoils. The wolf is once again just another sheep. "Keep up the crossword, Raven."

His attention turns to a video game and the rest of the hour is spent in companionable silence subtly kissed as it is by the game's musical noise. There are three more words she has yet to guess at, her knowledge of English vocabulary not quite enough to finish the puzzle; but she decides to come back to it after fetching a cup of tea for herself and a glass of soda for Robin.

She is gone no more than five minutes, and when she returns the three words have been filled in. They are spelled in his distinctive style, two words written – as hers are – in blue ink, the third in red and obviously incorrect as there are letters he has scratched out to fashion his answer with her own name. And when her eyes meet the clue which her name has responded to, she loses all breath and feels as if the world has shifted when the ramifications come clear.

_Five letters, 4 Down – Fr.; my love._

**Notes:** It must be quite OBVIOUS from this little ficlet that I - personally - SUCK at crosswords. And yes, I'm aware that the French phrase for "**my** love" is _mon amour._ But that would have left too many letters (or too few if I had decided to have Robin write her given and sur names). There was a similar problem with having the clue be "lover" (which would have defeated the purpose as it already HAS five letters). In French, it would be _amoureux_. Another answer could have been _paramour_, but still too many or too few letters ;-; I was about to just give up when I threw up my hands and went, "It's gonna be like _this_, damn it!" And so it is.


	29. Family, Part 1 Trough

**Note:** This "kiss" ties in with #20, Path. It will consist of three parts.

**_30 Kisses Themed Ficlets_**

_Robin/Raven_

_By Kysra_

Theme #29 (the sound of waves): Family

Part I - Trough

They say the first year is always the most difficult. _They _could not have been more correct.

He proposed to her after an extraordinarily violent battle before she had a chance to get her bearings or even wash the stench of her own sweat and blood from her skin; and she had reacted with the full bite of her inherent cynicism, "You don't want a wife, Robin. You want a _mother_."

Considering that she was at least partially right in her split-second assessment, she would come to look upon that rebuttal with ironic amusement. After all, it was only days later - on her 17th birthday - that she surprised him (and herself) with an affirmation. She was still trying to figure out the why behind it; but as the years passed, she realized that it didn't really matter all that much.

They married in secret out of respect for Starfire who had left for Tameran a year before and who insisted on attending the "glorious event" despite the hurt it must have caused her - even if it was obvious that what united them was notably not love. Their discussions, between the time of the acceptance and the wedding (a very short, very hectic three weeks), as to the nature of their relationship found them mutually concluding that their union was fueled by simple need. Need for what, they could not begin to fathom, but they agreed rather amiably that there was a pull between them that would drive them both crazy should they be parted.

Perhaps, she often mused now, marriage had been a somewhat radical measure in dealing with their bond. Their "romance," when the wedding became public knowledge three weeks later, was the responsibility of Bruce Wayne. To the world, she had married Richard Grayson, Gotham's favorite son, America's most eligible and desirable bachelor, and everything (including the rabid fan girls) that was attached to him. She was the very center of admirable envy, always a mysterious figure but elevated to legend status for having the gall to snag such a wanted man. According to the papers, she was undeserving for everything from her height to her passion for tea though some sniped unworthiness due to sheer otherness. Superheroes - especially those gifted with supernatural power - should remain with their own. No mixing with civilians allowed.

All things considered, she was infinitely grateful to Robin for allowing his super hero persona to remain single - if only in the public eye. She didn't even want to think about what would have happened if the tabloids had proven Nightwing romantically attached all of a sudden. His fan base was even larger than Richard's.

Added to the negative reaction of the community was the negative energies that erupted nearly as soon as the first box had been moved into their first shared apartment. Getting along had never been a problem for them. Their temperaments were similarly low-key, and they had enough shared pain between them to discourage the creation of unnecessary drama; however, she came to understand that Robin needed laughter in his life to counter the horrors he witnessed in the dark. With Cyborg, Beastboy, and Starfire leading their own lives, Robin had lost his sunshine, and she was a poor substitute. She had not been made to entertain.

As the days passed with the two of them creeping around each other, Robin's frustration became more compressed and internalized without a suitable outlet, and she experienced their relationship breakdown in another way. Even though she had believed she had accepted _Robin_'s proposal, it became apparent rather quickly that she had married _Dick Grayson_. Robin had left his mask in Jump City, and Nightwing's mistress was Bludhaven. Where the one no longer existed and the other knew no life other than crime fighting, she had no place; and once they were safely moved in together, barely a day passed before she had realized she did not know this man who was suddenly her husband.

To be quite honest, that was probably more her fault than his. She had never probed after his reasons for asking her in the first place, and there was never a moment when her guard wasn't up so that he could ask her why she had accepted. They spoke of many things but never their personal secrets or histories; and the brief few seconds when her mind was tucked inside his when they were younger barely registered in the thin thread of familiarity stretching and fraying between them, the last tatters of their once strong bond.

Soon enough, argument became their favored and only method of communication; and she had been happy, ecstatic even (or as ecstatic as she could get) that they had never consummated their wedding. They hadn't even slept in the same bed in those early days. Yet, they had made a pact - after the first few fights - to never go to bed angry with each other as all it did was leave them with a bad taste in their mouths come morning; because she had been very explicit in explaining to him that she did not believe in this Earth idea called "divorce"; and he was determined to follow through with his vows to protect her, even if it meant protecting her from _them_.

So, the evenings - between the end of his work day and the beginning of his night patrol, they would sit facing each other, hands clasped, and meditate together. Those few blessed minutes of togetherness were the only time they spent together in any sort of civil capacity for by the time he returned from crimefighting, she was already curled up in bed asleep - finished her own rounds on the other side of town.

What he never knew was that she never fell asleep until she knew his wounds were dressed and he was safely in bed. And she never knew that he would often lay in the dark wondering how he should apologize for all the things that had gone wrong since they became a single unit.

And the days became weeks and the weeks became months with the gossip mongers and tabloids making outrageous claims that she had "bewitched" young Grayson with her magic and feminine wiles, that she was planning on populating the nation with her "kind" in order to dominate humanity. As a result, her _husband_ and _father-in-law_ had felt it wise to issue a public statement decrying the false claims of a few crack magazines with the story of how they had met when she had supposedly rescued Dick from certain death.

That had been a mistake as the focus shifted from her apparent sinful manipulation to his apparent saintliness in marrying her out of gratitude for "saving his life."

One day, four months into their marriage, completely fed up with the idiocy that was the media circus surrounding them, she had - quite accidentally - broken every single dish they owned. Robin - as only she called him still - exhibiting mammoth patience, had tried to reassure her by saying, "Don't worry. In another month, we'll be old news."

And, like a true-blue prophet, he had been eerily correct. In another month, they had ceased to be worthy of attention; though the world had suddenly become completely and utterly consumed with absolute hatred for her. After all, it was bad enough she had somehow managed to bind Dick Grayson in holy and legal matrimony – a true sin against all single womanhood (and some portions of manhood as well) to be sure; it was absolutely devastating that she had the nerve to get _pregnant_.

And suddenly, everything made sense! This interloper had obviously planned to get in the family way to entrap him, and Grayson, upstanding citizen and bewildered playboy that he was, had done the honorable thing. Never mind that the witch and the Adonis had been married several months before they had even consummated. The tabloids had spoken, and who ever said that all gossip was false gossip?

To be fair, she had been just as shocked and horrified as everyone else. So had Robin . . . well, he had been shocked but not horrified. They had come together one night after a visit with Bruce and Alfred during one of Wayne Enterprises' high class dinners. Neither had imbibed any alcohol as neither had ever seen the charm in it; and given their professions, it probably wasn't the best idea to get even half-way drunk, on duty or no. Still, their rooms had been on the other side of the house, and during the walk, they had talked – _really_ _talked_ – to each other. And suddenly, as he chuckled softly at something she had said, she remembered that they were friends and she had never felt so lonely as she had during the last few months.

It had not been love making. It had not been anything close to just sex. It had been something in between and – somehow – _more_. It had been like crossing a threshold that neither had known was there; and afterwards, both were unafraid to repeat the action. In their shared bed, they once more felt a ghost of the connection they had seemingly lost but wanted, needed desperately.

Looking back, she was appalled at her behavior; but it had been necessary. The bond they had forged mentally was only one small part of a three-fold process that she was just now beginning to understand. Their physical joining had been the second part.

And the result of that joining, had been a very startling, very unwelcome surprise.

It wasn't that she disliked children, it was that she knew – like she knew her eyes were violet or that she favored Chamomile tea over Earl Grey – motherhood was not meant for her; and despite their then-new physical intimacy, she and her husband were still arguing – actually, the arguing became even worse after the discovery of her 'delicate condition.'

To give Robin credit where it was due, however, he had not commented on whether or not she should keep the baby. She much preferred to believe this was because he knew it was her choice and not because he knew enough about the culture she hailed from to understand that she effectively had no choice. She had been taught to think of all life as sacred and harm done to another was harm done to one's soul, and her soul was her most precious, hard-won possession.

Undecided, she had taken to visiting Alfred daily. He had a soothing kind of presence that spoke of support through silence and ever-ready advice. She had needed his calm wit during the day to counter Robin's fiery temper at night. Under his care and supervision, she had deliberated on the fate of her child; and at some point, she began to wonder if her mother had gone through a similar trial once pregnant for her.

_Surely_, she had mused, _my mother must have wanted to be rid of me. _ And though she knew that her mother had probably kept her for nothing save fear of reprisals, she also knew that her mother had loved her from the moment of her birth. It was something imprinted on her living skin, a testament of her mother's raw affection and hope. Her mentor once told her of how her mother had reached for her blood and fluid covered infant body and wept bitterly when the silent plea was refuted. Being denied the right to hold your own child . . . it was something she knew her mother had never forgotten nor forgiven.

But where the one had wanted family more than anything and was granted that wish through the greatest of follies and the most awful of consequences, she had wanted none of it but had careened recklessly into all of it. And the more she thought of her mother, the more she realized that this baby might be a poorly wrapped gift. Here was something potentially beautiful to offset the ugliness of her prior life; and as she became more resigned and (sometimes) excited at the prospect before her, the less she had the will to fight with her husband. It only put a strain on her already thinning emotions.

However, there was one issue on which she would not budge no matter how hard and how bitterly they fought each other, and it very nearly cost them their marriage.

It all started when she had mentioned, quite casually, that they had better begin making plans to convert the spare bedroom – formerly hers – into a birthing chamber. Seeing his stonewall face, she immediately explained that in her world it was customary for a woman to give birth alone, in the bed the child was created in. Symmetry, connections, these were lauded in the land of her own birth. Therefore, she was hurt and angry that he had been so stubborn in denying this tradition. After their fifth argument on this same issue, she had finally had enough of all the distress Robin, their marriage, and the breakdown of their friendship – whatever was left of it – was causing her, and while he was away lurking in the dark of the city and itching for a fight, she packed an overnight bag and took a cab to Wayne Manor.

Purposefully, she had neglected to leave her husband a note as she had nothing to say to him. At that point, she had been six months along, they had just celebrated their first wedding anniversary (though there was notably no celebration), and she was ready to simply give up.

To be continued . . .


End file.
